Mercenary
by bluekrishna
Summary: Third in the Justicar series, this is Keigan's story. Predating 'Sister' by a few years, this is an accounting of events that would someday lead to Keigan and Sister meeting. How did their fates align? Can a man truly change? Can he learn to see beyond a past full of betrayal and bloodshed and bitterness? Can there be such a thing as hope for a man like him?
1. Chapter 1

_C'mon, little brother! Let's race!_

He started awake from his doze to hear Mogul grumbling, "-not like it was, you know what I'm saying?"

Keigan sighed and sat back up straighter, and shook away the ghost come to haunt him. He gave the old krogan a baleful glare where the bastard sat next to him in this depressingly tiny bar. "Why's it I never hear old fuckers talking about anything but 'how grand it was back in the old days' or 'they don't make'em like they used to'?"

"Cuz they don't. And it was. Hey, what about that time we ran the blockade past Ixion Prime with three turian cruisers on our asses? I thought I was gonna shit myself when the Corsair told us to drop into the atmo of that proto-planet-"

"Before my time, you crusty ancient bastard. Two hundred and some odd years before. My great-grandfather hadn't been born yet."

Drunk, Mogul could only blink at him. Then he snorted. "Oh, yeah."

The two men sat in awkward silence.

Feeling a touch of sympathy, Keigan sighed. "It's a good story, though. Even if I've heard it a dozen times."

The krogan muttered, "You should have been there, kid. Engagement after engagement, the Corsair led us through, always with a laugh and a cheer and a bloody thirst for more. More work, more money, more . . . _fun. _We freelanced for every government there was, 'cept the humans. They weren't around yet. And she never doubted that we'd make it.

"Sometimes, we took heavy losses, but there never was a lack of new recruits begging to fly under her flag. So many battles. We didn't have much, a couple ships, maybe five hundred of us grunts tops, but we tore the galaxy a new one. And soon, everyone knew who we were and no one dared to fuck with us. She made the Corbies a force to be reckoned with."

Keigan watched Mogul, the sad old codger, reminisce and did wonder how it must have been then, during the Corbies' golden age. Back before they'd grown so huge and complacent, before their might began to wane. Now the smaller, hungrier mercenary bands, like the Eclipse, Blue Suns and Bloodpack led the charge, and carved further into Corbie territory with every season.

The turian held up his bottle in a toast. "To better times."

"To better times." The krogan clinked his glass with Keigan's. He sipped in pensive contemplation after that.

"Whatever happened to the Corsair?"

Mogul frowned and swirled his liquor. "She got soft."

Then Silva took over. Probably with her usual brutality. Keigan suppressed a shiver. The krogan didn't have to say it. They both knew their boss.

Mogul took a huge swig of his drink, eyeballing Keigan askance the entire time. Then he pounded the countertop with the empty glass and belched. Keigan waved away the noxious fumes. Then, the krogan grunted a question, "Never seen those particular colony markings before. Where'd you say you came from again?"

"You wouldn't have heard of it." Bitterness squatted in his guts, souring his mood.

Mogul grunted in surprise, then retorted, "I might have."

"No, you wouldn't have." Daring the krogan to keep going, Keigan gripped his bottle so tight that his gloves squeaked. He tamped down the urge to do violence with great effort.

Mogul glanced down at Keigan's hand, then shrugged and looked away altogether. "Guess it's not important."

"Not to _you_." Mollified, Keigan scrubbed his face, yawning and stretching his mandibles. The end of a sixteen-hour binge and he still didn't feel as though he'd gotten drunk enough. Or at all, really. "C'mon, this is a wash. Let's go get the boys sorted."

"Givin' _me _orders now, plateface? Damn turians. Just 'cuz you're fuckin' the boss-"

Keigan nudged Mogul hard in the ribs as a svelte female figure swung into the bar. He stood to attention. "Boss."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the krogan do the same, all hint of inebriation fled with admirable speed. Fear will do that to a man, sharpen his wits and take away what little pleasures he might find. Mogul grumbled, "Boss."

"Thought I'd find you boys here." Silva looked around the dismal and smoky room full of drunks, her pretty face smiling, though her eyes said she found her surroundings revolting. She ran a finger through some spilled drink on the bar and drew curls in the glass top, as though she was writing something.

_Her name, no doubt, _Keigan thought with hidden sourness. Spirits knew she liked-no, _loved _to leave her mark on everything.

"At least you're both consistent. I never need to go further than the nearest watering hole. " Their employer turned back to them and said, "Leave is over. Get everyone back to the fleet."

Mogul grinned. "We got a job?"

Silva's lips curled even more, taking on a feral cast. "I'm bored and tired of waiting on our clients' pleasure. It's time to create some . . . opportunities."

Keigan mulled this over. True, the Dire Corbies had suffered heavily in the ever-growing, ever-shifting market for hired guns, but they'd always managed to find work before. What changed? "Where we going?"

The asari wiped her fingers off on his armored chest and said with mild reproach, "That would ruin the surprise, Keigan."

"I thought you didn't like surprises." He dropped into her wake as she spun and lead them out.

She smirked at him over her shoulder, the teasing look in her ruthless eyes pulling at him. Or his loins anyway. "I don't like being the one surprised."

He chuckled. Oh, she was a dangerous one. Probably why he followed her. She made life exciting.

* * *

"Why are we even out here?" groused Turk, a rough human infiltrator who'd only recently joined.

Keigan shrugged, though much the same question had occurred to him. He turned a questioning eye on Silva, who seemed occupied by whatever Mogul had to show her on his monitors. The krogan kept watch on comm channels, scanning through the frequencies most used by those of the various races. Good thing she didn't hear Turk run his mouth or the man might find himself spaced before he knew it.

Yet the human couldn't seem to shut it. "I get nervous this far into Alliance space. Didn't exactly leave their ranks in good grace, if you catch my drift."

"Not a unique story by far. Most here have similar." Keigan watched as Silva's lips curled into another famous grin. You couldn't trust that smile to mean anything other than someone might soon find themselves in a heap of trouble. The asari stood straight and headed his way. He muttered out of the side of his mouth, "Go away and try to learn how to keep your tongue from flapping, or she'll rip it out someday."

The human shot him an outraged glare, then noticed Silva's approach. Turk swallowed hard, face tight with tension, and scampered off.

Silva beckoned Keigan to the big map with one long, perfectly manicured fingernail. With a few deft waves of her hand, she brought up the nearby systems. Zooming in on one planet in particular, she tapped at five blips, each representing a ship. Two running with three in pursuit. "Behold the human colony of Drasta. It has just had the misfortune of being targeted by batarian slavers."

"Are those Alliance ships in pursuit?" Keigan asked, peering closer at the icons. He saw that their own ships scooted along on an intercept course.

"Two frigates and a destroyer. An inconsequential force."

The turian flicked a mandible. "Slavers hired us to cover their escape?"

Again, that dangerous smile. "No. Not yet. In fact, depending on who contacts us first, we may help or hinder their unlucky counterpart. Whichever they may be."

Keigan frowned. "What makes you so certain they won't just ignore us and sort it out themselves?"

"I might have tipped off the Alliance to the impending strike. I might also have told people I know in the Hegemony of windows of opportunity regarding when certain human colonies might be unprotected."

The turian drew in a deep breath. "That's a dangerous game, boss. Playing both sides like that."

"It's no more or less than what arms-dealers have done for the whole of history, my sweet Keigan." She reached out and ran a hand over his cheek, tracing the intricate whorls there.

He leaned into her touch and rumbled lust at her. She smiled in appreciation before continuing, "They will call. The Alliance will have difficulty capturing those two ships without heavy losses. The slavers won't be able to escape without jettisoning their cargo. All we have to do is _be_ there and-"

A beeping sounded around the command center. Keigan chuckled. "There's our lucky winner now."

Silva laughed with him. "Open the comms, Mogul."

"-ix'ia to Dire Corbie fleet. Please, come in!" bleated a panicked batarian on the other end.

The asari leaned forward, with both hands resting on the map controls. She said, in a bright and cheerful alto, "Hail and well met. This is Silva N'ordain. What can this humble mercenary do for you, O'prizewinners?"

"What?" barked the slaver, all confusion. Then the sound of explosions rang through the link. The batarian shouted over the noise, "Help us, please! Destroy these Alliance pyjaks!"

Silva made a thoughtful hum in her throat. "I don't know . . .. The Alliance can be rather touchy about mercs blowing up their ships. What can you give me to counterbalance the headache and any annoying attempts at retribution?"

"We'll pay you!"

"Three mil."

The batarian sputtered in outrage. "That's extortion!"

"I have mouths to feed and cruisers to fuel."

"It's only three Alliance ships-"

Silva interrupted him with a sharp, "I could help them capture you instead. I can see their hail on the other channel. It's glowing at me. Should I pick it up?"

"No! N-no, we'll pay!"

Every face in the command center grinned at that. Keigan met Silva's icy blue eyes and nodded, conceding to her brilliance. Three million credits was a huge payoff for so simple a task.

Silva chuckled, a warm and deep sound. "Deal."

She signaled for Mogul to cut the link, then turned to the rest of them. "Well, get on with it."

Keigan spun and barked, "As soon as we're through the relay, bring us up alongside the destroyer. Broadside that gunship!"

He shouted out more orders as the mercenaries prepared for battle. The transition to real space push/pulled at him and he leaned over the map to see their relative positions better. Vid feeds from every other ship queued up on his monitor, showing him all the angles. He sent out more orders, minor corrections to trajectory, then stood back to watch it all fall into place. His favorite part, by far.

Silva watched at his side, her eyes glowing with fascination. She tapped one of the icons with her nail, where a cluster of their ships harried, but refrained from dealing a critical blow. "Not going to destroy _that_ frigate?"

"Lots of salvage on a ship like that. Plus, boarding her will give our ground troops something to do, keep them sharp."

His asari commander spun on a heel and walked to her plush throne-like seat, or her 'comfy chair' as she called it. She sat with regal aplomb and told Keigan, "Go with them. Be my eyes and ears. Tell them you speak with my voice."

He saluted and strode to the elevator starboard of the map. From there, he stopped by the armory and geared up: Rifle, helmet, grenades. From his pack, he drew out a small box and flipped it open.

Keigan studied what lay within for a moment, then picked it up and slotted it into the port at the base of his skull. A crackling buzz filled him as the amp harnessed his body's chaotic energies and focused them, putting them to yoke and magnifying them tenfold.

Flexing his fingers, Keigan watched tendrils of biotic power curl and uncurl in the air. Yes, time to do some damage.

* * *

Throwing a last shockwave through the frigate's command center, Keigan smirked as it threw the remaining Alliance troops into the air. His own forces picked every one of the flailing soldiers off with controlled bursts of fire.

As one, they stood out of cover. Grinning like madmen, the mercenaries clustered around him. Turk scratched at the stubble on his chin and sneered. "Too easy."

Another merc, an old salarian, hummed agreement, then put a hand to his ear to listen to the radio chatter. "Got prisoners downstairs."

"Oooh. A bit of fun?" Turk rubbed his hands together. "Could play a little game of hide and go kill. Eh, Moxie?" He prodded the salarian in the ribs.

Moxie, or Mox'itlanderanpherax to those willing to go the extra mile, frowned at the human's antics. He turned back to Keigan and asked, "What do you want us to do with them?"

Keigan thought for a moment, weighing the pros and cons of taking the Alliance grunts and ransoming them back, but then shook his head. He knew what Silva would want. "Space them. No witnesses. No trace of this attack. Salvage, then scuttle."

They shuffled off to do as he commanded. His own comms beeped and he flipped open the channel. "Keigan."

"I'm on the slaver ship. Get over here. I need you. Seems our slaver friends don't have the money to pay us." Silva's voice, though warm and pleasant, held a sweetly sinister note. She must be livid.

"We really need to start getting our wages _before_ doing the job." He sighed. "On my way."

He took one of the shuttles and flew it into the capacious cargo bay of the lead slaver ship. When he exited, the stench of crowded bodies and filth made his stomach roil in disgust. Cages filled the whole bay, with hundreds of slaves in them, segregated roughly into male and female. Mostly humans, but some turians, batarians, and salarians mixed in as well. The slavers must hit several colonies before heading to market then.

Silva stood at the end and loomed over two batarians, the scarily toothy smile on her face an indicator of her displeasure. Even the slavers seemed to realize how deep in the shit they'd found themselves. One stuttered, after glancing at the turian, bristling with weapons, sauntering their way, "B-but we don't carry that much currency and c-can only do a c-credit transfer that lar-large on a trade p-planet-"

"You should have told me that before the deal, Quod. You can't expect me to haul my entire fleet in your wake just to get paid."

The other batarian peeked out from behind his comrade and offered, "You don't have to go with us. We will be more than happy to transfer the credits the very next time we stop for . . . for . . .."

He trailed off as her smile grew ever wider and more frightening. Silva turned to regard Keigan and said, pleasant as you please, "Keigan." Then she waved at the batarians and wandered off a few paces, clearly unwilling to deal with things she deemed beneath her.

The turian spoke, "We will tail you to the next trade planet. You will transfer the credits as promised. Plus, half again for our trouble-"

Quod sputtered, "But we won't have that until we sell-"

"Twice." Keigan glared as he shut down the interruption with one of his own, "_Two times _as much, now."

The batarian's mouth shut with a snap. Smart.

From behind Keigan, came Silva's voice, "Tell me about this one."

They all turned to regard a small cage with a single inhabitant. A female human huddled in the far corner. The asari beckoned her to come into the light. "Don't be afraid, my dear. I won't harm you." One could believe almost any lie said in that soft and warm alto.

The woman stood on shaky legs and drew closer to Silva. The light hit her face and Keigan had to suppress a gasp. Flawless porcelain skin, blue-black hair that shone with a hearty luster and eyes of such unusual color that he blinked in surprise. Their molten amber hue glimmered, almost metallic in the harsh flourescent light of the cargo bay. Even he, a turian, had to recognize that this woman was a rare beauty.

"What is your name?" Silva asked, reaching through the bars to cup the human's pale cheek.

Her ruby lips parted and she whispered, with pathetic hope, "Celeste."

"I am Silva. I'm very pleased to meet you." Without looking at the batarians, her voice raised to query them, "What is her value?"

Darting looks at each other, they both opened and closed their mouths a couple of times, as though at a loss for words.

Keigan commented, with dry disdain, "I suggest you don't make her ask again, and answer truthfully or she might feel the need to use _persuasion."_

Quod looked down and away with all four of his eyes. "Ten mil."

"_Ten? _For a single slave?" Silva chuffed, incredulous. "I could buy a scout ship for that. And pay for the men to crew her."

"She is a consort. A student of Sha'ira's. Highly skilled."

Keigan watched a light grow in Silva's eyes, a gleam of pure avarice that only grew brighter as she looked around the cargo bay at all the other cages. He felt an unpleasant shock as something shifted, something unseen having to do with the workings of the universe as he understood it. A tipping point reached and suddenly surpassed.

The asari faced Celeste and gripped the bars as she stared at the terrified human within. It seemed the woman finally realized she hadn't found a rescuer in the asari with the pleasant demeanor. Silva licked her lips and said, "Keigan, space all the slavers on this ship and the other."

The turian frowned but signaled for his men to take the struggling, protesting slavers away to their dooms. Then he turned back to Silva. "What is it, boss?"

She hummed a happy hum and said, "I have an idea."

"An idea?" He didn't dare allow a dubious note to enter his tone.

"A glorious idea. One that could help us regain our former greatness."

When she turned her bright and too-cheerful grin on him, he made himself return it with enthusiasm, though in his heart of hearts he felt an alarming disquiet sprout and grow.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Meritocracy is a lie._

_The first thing you ever taught me, dad. When we were all of us huddled in the shadow of Charnoff's Needle in the old ruins of that dead colony, I remember most how your eyes glowed with hate. Hate for those responsible. For the waste of it all. _

_I remember thinking how righteous that anger must be to survive two plus millenia and forty generations of our people. How great and grand it felt to be part of it. How glorious the vision you painted for us. A whole colony of biotics. The eezo-rich world gifting us all with the power to reshape reality, to alter physics with our minds and bodies alone. _

_The Heirarchy, terrified of such power, sending its fleets to quell any hint of rebellion, though the sons and daughters of Scipio Haedus gave no cause for such a witchhunt. That didn't stop them from taking hundreds of us into custody as conspirators and bombing the rest from orbit. _

_How my hands shake in fury as I write this. _

_Two thousand years have passed and that hate still lives, thrives in the heart of the few of us that remain to make the pilgrimage. To remember. Should we ever forgive them for scrubbing every record of us from memory? Where once were thirty colonies, there are now only twenty-eight mentioned in the official archives. No, there is no forgetting. No forgiveness._

_When they took Polexia . . .. Old man, how you spat and cursed. With me doing the same alongside you, too young to really understand the words I screamed at those jackals come to steal my sister, but feeling the way it helped counterbalance the overwhelming helplessness. I swore then that they'd never take me like they did her, use me, wear me down to nothing like they did Polexia. _

_They threw her away, dad. Like garbage. I found out after we got that letter of consolation. They sent her with a pitifully small force against ridiculous odds knowing they'd never succeed. Like they do to all of us. For being what we are._

_They must feel such relief whenever one of us falls._

___You always swore one day there'd be a reckoning for the atrocities laid firmly at the Heirarchy's feet. Well, Dad, you're ten years in the ground, and I don't see that reckoning getting any closer. There aren't enough of us left to mount any sort of resistance against the tyrants who did this to us._

___But I _have___ found a way to stay out of their clutches. Mercenary work isn't glorious or honorable and I'm sure you'd hate to see me doing it, hate what I've become, but I survive. I'm free. And along the way, I stick it to the Heirarchy as often as I dare. It's not in keeping with your ideals, dad, but I've found a place here. _

___In this, I've discovered a true meritocracy. You're only worth what you can do. You can take whatever you desire, as long as you can defend it. And you can trust your fellow merc, in so far as these basic tenets are observed. No friendship, but there's still comaraderie._

___The money's good enough, though the work as of late has become less than savory. _

___Honest combat I don't mind, but slavery . . .. It's too reminiscent of the Cabals._

___Our leader, Silva, is sly and ever watchful, so I must be careful. It's why I write this journal on precious wood pulp paper and pen, in the old dialect you taught us for passing messages among us exiles. If she were ever to find it-well, let's just say she hates secrets._

___And, dad, how I wish you could read these messages, cajole me, contradict me with that stern resolve you used to have before Polexia was lost to us, before the heartbreak killed you. I miss that. I write now as though to you because I could always talk to you, be myself with you. Now, I keep my true face hidden. My colony markings mean nothing to anyone, so they go unremarked. But what do they really matter anyway? No one remembers us, no one cares. Even I don't feel it, the anger, like I used to. I am . . . resigned._

___Silva has a disturbing love of taking away from people what they most cherish. I think I've survived in her service this long because I feel very little fear of this. For I truly do have nothing left for her to take._

* * *

"But why? Weren't we getting enough work?" He stroked a blue arm with his thumb in lazy circles, relaxed in the afterglow.

Silva raised her head from his chest and affixed him a small and contented smile. "A pittance compared to what we once claimed."

"True enough."

"I see an opportunity here, something never seen before and, if we're quick and canny, we can corner the market before anyone thinks to rise to compete with us."

Keigan made a doubtful noise in his throat. "But there are already plenty of slavers out there. The Hegemony-"

"are fools. They might have done this for ages, but they lack imagination. They don't think outside the box." His boss sat up and straddled him, stretching with languid ease.

The turian let his hands wander over her soft skin, rumbling in appreciation of her delightful curves. "Hmm, and what lies outside this 'box'?"

"The slavers are greedy. They take everything they can get their hands on, without discrimination. For them, it's all about quantity, not quality." Silva eyed him with a dark sort of hunger.

Keigan sublimated a shiver behind a leer of his own. "And you'd rather focus on quality, then?"

"The human girl. Do you want her?" She speared him with a sly glare, her icy blue eyes even icier as she scrutinized him.

Knowing she expected him to lie or dissemble, he shrugged a helpless affirmative. "One would have to be blind to ignore her appeal. But, I already have my hands full." To illustrate the point, Keigan cupped her full breasts.

Silva leaned over him, laughing. "Oh, you always know just what to say, don't you? That's what I like about you, Keigan. On a treacherous path, you always know where to put your feet."

"You flatter me."

"Anyway, back to the point. What do you think of starting a breeding operation? Specialized slaves made and conditioned to order."

Keigan hummed and pretended to ponder it deeply, though he found it disturbing in ways he couldn't ever vocalize in her presence. "Why not use chip and collar? Wouldn't that be easier?"

"Because that system is flawed. Brain damage, skeletal and nervous system degradation and eventual failure, loss of higher functions. _Quality, _remember?"

He had trouble deciding which was worse: Being a free person trapped in a body that did someone else's every whim or being trained from birth to not have a will of one's own at all. At least with the former, one had the scant comfort of outrage. "So, in pursuit of quality, we'd start to breed all the aggression out of these slaves?"

"That, and breed to promote other traits. Beauty, subservience, utter dependence on their masters." She looked past him now, at some future only she could see. "We'll need somewhere to set up. We'll hire handlers, overseers, medtechs, the whole works. But most of all, we'll need stock."

He did his best not to jerk at that word, or grimace at the bad taste this business left in his mouth. Instead, he mustered a practiced salacious grin. "Well, made a good start on that yesterday."

Silva pouted. "It's not enough. Most of those pathetic creatures are chaff to be culled. We'll pick out the best and dispose of the rest."

"And how will we get more?" he said, with a hint of suspicion, then bit his tongue against his own foolishness.

His vicious lover looked down at him, too knowingly for his liking. "Shall I make you raid colonies for more slaves for our venture?" She laughed, and waved as though she meant to allay his fears. It only made him more anxious. No telling what she really intended to do. Her words rarely matched her actions. She continued, "The batarians will have slaves enough to sell us. We'll pick over their catches before they hit the market."

"And why will they grant _us_ such preferential treatment?"

Silva grinned, a predator confident in her supremacy. "Because I say so."

And so it came to pass.

Over the course of fifteen years, the Dire Corbies almost became two separate bands. One side, the slavery ring, which Silva tended to like a diligent gardener, ever weeding and refining. And the mercenary side, which Keigan found himself in charge of. Silva's philosophy of quality over quantity spread through the whole of the legion, whittling the fighting corps down to just the best, just the hardest.

Keigan formed these into kill squads, commandos for hire to do the jobs even governments wanted no part of, but would pay top credit to see done.

This change did not settle well with some veterans, but Silva, jealous Silva, gave him orders explicit on how to deal with deserters.

Which brought him to his present dilemma.

"Give it up, Moxie! You're trapped in there," he shouted through the barrier-protected door, a huge metal affair that had so far thwarted their siege.

Muffled came the response, "Perhaps it is you that is trapped out there."

Keigan grimaced as the truth of that statement struck home. He looked at what remained of his squad and sighed. A series of pitfalls and snares claimed more than half of his men. That devilish salarian hadn't lost his edge in 'retirement'. Who knew what sort of traps lay on the way out, even if he had any intention of retreating before the job's end.

Qek'elahim, his quarian decryptionist, tapped his shoulder. Keigan turned and leaned close to hear the suit-rat whisper. "I need to find a direct interface to bring down that shield."

Keigan signaled to two others, experts in disarming tripwires and similar devices. He said, low and hard, "Moe, Toleme, go with him. Make sure you do a thorough sweep before you touch a fucking thing. You hear me?"

The three mercs nodded and darted away. He wished them speed in their mission. Just as he thought it, a fresh wave of mechs flooded out of the chutes abreast of the big door. The barrier flashed as each unit walked through it, some sort of IFF allowing them free passage. Keigan scowled as he thought of Menkin, who'd thought to breach that shield by charging it with one of those mechs grasped before him like some kind of offering. That krogan's corpse lay nearby, still smoking.

He whipped up his assault rifle and laid into the first ranks. His fellows mirrored him. Soon, his weapon beeped at him, overheated. Switching to his pistol, Keigan growled and flung a lift out there, catching one mech mid-step. It flew up and then came crashing down on its mechanical mates, throwing them into disorder. Keigan followed up with a shockwave, sneering in satisfaction as the ground erupted into energy spikes, destroying four foes in its path.

The kinetic barrier flickered and flexed, as though tortured. The hum of its workings buzzing and fizzing. A cheer went up around him as the thing sputtered and died. Keigan yelled over their boisterousness, "Stickies! Grenades! Everything! Crack that nut!"

Wading into the mechs' disordered firing line, he struck out with fist and foot, throwing biotics into the fray whenever he had opportunity. The mechs, the simple and stupid things, couldn't adapt to melee and fell beneath the mercenaries' deadly charge. When they reached the door, Keigan spun to guard their flank as the others put the charges in place.

From out of the corridor they'd used to enter this maze came Qek and Moe, limping. The quarian clutched at his side, leaning heavily on the smaller human, whose bloody face told Keigan that their task had not gone unimpeded. Toleme was probably dead. He wasted no thought on it, instead turning when his men shouted that the explosives had been set.

"Huddle up!" He barked, then led them further away before erecting a barrier of his own. It flickered into life around them. Gritting his teeth for what came next, he grunted, "Set it off!"

A deafening blast bombarded him. He squinted against the light that struck him hard. The force of the explosion rocked him back a few feet. He groaned as his barrier took a beating. It warbled at him in distress, the strain of holding it like a physical blow to his skull. His amp flamed at his nape. Keigan swore he could smell it burning the skin there. Maybe his implant grew just as hot, for it did feel like his brain might be melting. Just as the pain built to a screaming pitch, it ceased. Darkness and silence fell upon them. He relaxed and the barrier popped like a bubble. Relief swamped him and his knees nearly buckled in exhaustion.

Swaying a bit, Keigan peered into the hole his boys had made of the door. "Find him."

They scrambled to obey his order. Out of their sight, he let himself sag and clutch his head, a dull ache there telling him he'd pushed too hard. He'd regret that later, when the aftereffects spotted his vision and made his hands tremble. Then he'd fear what such overreaching might one day do to him.

His men dragged the semi-conscious and bound Moxie out of his sanctuary and threw him at Keigan's feet. The salarian, dazed, but furious, glared up at him from where he knelt.

"Shouldn't have run, Moxie." Keigan ground out from between clenched teeth. His voice sounded raspy even to him.

"What would _you_ have done in my place, hmm?" spat Moxie.

"I wouldn't have left at all. You know the penalty of desertion."

"I didn't sign up to be a slaver!" All venom and vitriol, and wounded nobility found far too late. Keigan scowled, and tasted that bad taste again. Ashes, maybe the ashes of sacrificed illusions, put to reality's pyre.

The turian reached down and grabbed one of Moxie's prongs, yanking his head to the side. "You signed up to do whatever she wants you to do. That is the only law we have, the only covenant. Everything else is permitted."

"And when the results of that contract become unbearable? What then?"

Keigan felt the weight of his squad's stares on him, knew they listened for his answer. He drew himself up and grinned a grin he'd learned from Silva. One that was all teeth and no humor. "We are mercenaries. No job too ugly, no deed too depraved. For the right amount of money. And the boss has never failed to deliver the right amount of money."

Moxie shook his head. "You're wrong. There are things even we shouldn't do. Things that are just not _right_."

"That may be so, but you forget one thing, brother. Above and beyond that, we are Dire Corbies. You don't get to just leave like it means _nothing_ to be one of us." Keigan dropped down into a crouch to look the salarian in the eye. "No one gets to ignore the _obligation_."

"Just do what you came to do," came the cold and passionless reply.

Keigan held his hand out to one of his subordinates. "His pistol."

Qek's luminous eyes flashed in the depths of his helmet. "You're going to shoot him with his own pis-?"

"His. Pistol." They all froze and fell silent in the wake of his pointed demand.

Moe set it into his palm without a single word, eyes averted.

"Silva demands your life, so I'll take it. But I won't lie and say it won't give me a certain amount of satisfaction murdering a traitor like you, a man who kills his own brothers in arms." Keigan put the muzzle of the gun under Moxie's jaw, giving it a savage little thrust, bruising the salarian's throat. "For the sake of his _pride_. But since you were once my brother, I'll kill you quick and painless as I can manage."

Moxie stared at him, eyes sad in his otherwise blank face. "I hope you see one day, Keigan. I hope you come to realize how monstrousness can be a contagion. A plague."

A strange displacement fell onto him, along with a flash of what he vaguely knew as sorrow. Keigan pulled the trigger and watched the salarian keel over and die. The loud bang silenced Moxie's words, but not their effect. They struck a chord. Unsettled all the way down into his keel, Keigan nevertheless kept his face stern and callous before his ever-vigilant squad. "Take a holo. Send it to the boss."

He spun on his heel, head and heart pounding. Picking his path with care, he soon found himself back in their shuttle. He sat at the rear and stretched out along the bulkhead, taking up five seats. Thoughts, uncomfortable and confusing, beset him then. Muddled by his headache, he couldn't sort them properly. He fumbled in his many pockets and found pain relievers and muscle relaxers. Popping a few, Keigan leaned back and closed his eyes.

The weight of the new pistol at his hip kept tickling his memory of the once friend who'd fell in his wake. Not the first and probably not the last.

A deep and troubled sleep found him in the end and quieted those niggling and gnawing concerns.

For now.


	3. Chapter 3

As Keigan waited to be acknowledged, he looked around, interested in the many changes during his long absence. Interested and a little overwhelmed.

Silva sat in an ornate chair on a raised dais in front of him, attended by many slaves in tunics, some in blue and a couple in white. Loose clothing covered them from shoulder to thigh, but left their arms, thighs and feet bare. The asari who held their figurative leash stared with almost murderous intent at a datapad in her hand. As her cold eyes flicked over certain points, the flash of a canine between smiling, painted lips told Keigan that something truly vexing lay displayed on the device.

Mogul stood at her right hand, his krogan face stony, all expression closed off. His hands, though, belied his outward calm, flexing and unflexing in fists at his sides.

"It's her," she said as a soft aside to the krogan. With a deep sigh, Silva finally looked away from the datapad and turned to Mogul. "Tell the Cultivators that nine bloodlines have been lost and to adjust the program accordingly. An asset has been destroyed. The breeding facility on Seti Secundus is forfeit."

The krogan grumbled, "Not ten?"

"Our salvage team saved some of the stock and drove off the invader." Silva lowered her hand to stroke the head of one of the white-clad slaves reclining against her chair. The beautiful human youth leaned into her caress, eyes closing in pleasure. The other slave in white, a young turian female, pouted in jealousy. Silva addressed her with a fond, but cruel grin, "Now, now, my dear, you know you'd be my favorite if you worked harder at pleasing me and not yourself."

Cringing at the rebuke, the female rubbed her cheek on Silva's leg, like a pet. If pets could be lewd. It sickened Keigan a bit. Shame mixed with relief accompanied the feeling, relief at not being needed in that capacity any more, gladness that time and distance had cooled her ardor for him. None of this showed on his face. He'd long ago mastered not showing his true feelings.

Not looking away from her concubines, Silva said, "The traitor is dead?"

"I found his hiding place. A ship he'd rigged to be nigh impenetrable."

"No wonder we couldn't find him on any planet we had agents on." Silva played with her lower lip as she stared at him. The silence extended to an uncomfortable degree, then she said, "Good work."

"Thank you, boss-"

"Would that you'd found him sooner," she snapped, throwing the datapad at his feet. "Before he'd betrayed the location of our assets to my enemy."

_Enemy?_ he pondered, taken aback. Surely she had more than one. Why single a particular one out? Keigan bowed low to hide his curiosity and said the words she wanted to hear. "My apologies, boss. It was a long and difficult hunt."

"Two years, though, Keigan? Who knows what other mischief that damn salarian concocted. Did you at least interrogate him?"

Shocked, he could only stutter, "N-no, I didn't think to. You never required me to do so with any of the others. I put him down as quick-"

Suddenly, she lunged to her feet and stalked toward him. The slaves at her back scampered out of range of her wrath, but he knew better and stood to take whatever she seemed poised to dole out. It might be a slap. It might be a deathblow. He clamped down on the urge to tremble and run away.

She stopped a foot from him, far too close for his comfort and glared up at him, a dangerous smile playing about her lips. "Fortunate that in your decades of service, your successes have outweighed your failures hundredfold. That you've won me much and cost me little. Until now. Do you feel it, Keigan? The Goddess must smile upon your fool head. How lucky are _you_?"

Mouth dry, he rasped in the face of her fury, "Very lucky."

The asari grinned hugely, open-mouthed in grotesque pantomime of real joy. A sudden fear seized him that she meant to tear his throat out with her teeth and he almost fell back. Almost. But he knew that showing weakness only invited her to close in for the kill. "Do you know how delicate this organization is? How one piece out of place could bring the whole of it down?"

Dumbstruck, he nodded.

"Good. Remember that." She patted Keigan on the cheek and turned on one high heel away from him. "Remember that I keep my eye on every single piece."

He couldn't help himself, wincing as the question tore itself free, "If Moxie hadn't leaked the information to your enemy, would you still have had me hunt him down?"

Silva half-turned back to look at him and waved one hand in dismissive fashion. "Of course. He was mine. To do with or to do _away_ with as I saw fit."

She didn't see the way the other mercs stationed around the room glanced at each other in alarm. As she ascended back to her throne, he swallowed at the image that forced itself to the fore. A _throne._ A great hall constructed in this hollowed out asteroid converted into a fortress. With honor guard and peons all around. Every eye on her, every hand sworn to her, their liege.

_She's not building a business,_ thought he with a terrifying sort of awe, _She's building a kingdom. Queendom._

And doing a good job of it, too. He bit back any more unwise questions and averted his gaze to the floor. The chains had never felt tighter. Only then did he realize that the supposed freedom he'd bought by joining her band had only ever been illusion. He wondered how long until _he_ sat prostrate on the floor, rubbing _his_ cheek along her thigh.

Bile collected in his gullet and he pushed it back to hear her speak. "I have another assignment for you. You will go and retrieve my property from Seti Secundus and quarantine her from any contact with the regulars. We don't need the wild tales of one hysterical slave upsetting our boys, do we?"

Keigan shook his head in a slow negative.

"You will not speak to her. You will not ask her what happened. You will bring her to me and I will glean any truth I need from her." Silva smirked, lifting one brow as she returned to stroking her concubines' heads. "And if you do find that she's dripped her poison in the ears of some of our men, I trust you know what to do. And, Keigan, do not fail me in this."

"Yes, boss." He bowed and left, pausing in the corridor outside of her throne room to run a hand over his face in mortification. She wanted him to kill some of his fellow mercs for merely hearing gossip? What was she so afraid of? What did this slave know?

He tried to control his wanton curiosity and stomped through the compound. How did so much change so quickly? Everywhere he looked, he saw masses of bodies being herded, color-coded as to their function. Blue for servants, green for menials, white for concubines. His perception shifted and purple just became another color in her menagerie. The purple of her armies' armor, once a legion of proud, willful, _free _men and a few women, now bound to servitude just as fully as any menial.

Keigan paused at the corrals, noticing a couple of mercs moving pens full of naked children with a large forklift. An overseer ate a piece of fruit nearby, clearly bored. Unable to contain the concern that grew ever larger in his heart, Keigan asked of him, "Those kids going to be sorted?"

"Naw," said the overseer, spitting off to one side, "Been sorted. Thems culls."

Guts flipping, Keigan said, with a fair amount of reluctance, "What happens to culls?"

The man smirked. "Some is sold to batarians. The rest is rendered into protein. That is, the ones you lot don't snatch for the pits." With that, the revolting slaver winked at him like they shared a secret.

Mind reeling, Keigan stared at the man for what felt like forever before spinning on one heel and walking away. _Running away,_ his conscience whispered, insidious and damning. It did feel like he got to the spacedocks a lot quicker than usual.

He sat in the shuttle that would take him to a destroyer that would then take him to Seti Secundus and tried not to feel the horrifying relief at leaving the asteroid behind. The turian cursed himself for a fool. What did he think happened to the bred slaves that didn't pass muster? He'd never asked, he'd never _wanted_ to ask. Having spent so little time in Silva's new fiefdom, he'd wandered from mission to mission, thankfully oblivious to everything changing around him.

How he wished now he'd never asked, wished for that blissful ignorance to find him again.

Keigan told himself firmly that none of it concerned him, that none of it mattered. That slaves and their plights had nothing to do with him or his mission.

But there had been so_ many _kids in those cages.

By the time he got to Seti Secundus, he almost had himself convinced it never happened.

* * *

A face he knew. How had he forgotten the woman who'd sparked Silva's revelation, her shift of focus? How strange that it would be her in this place, at this time.

Gold-ish eyes framed by long, black hair watched him with a hopeless sort of emptiness. He wondered if she remembered him at all. Or if she only saw another nameless turian slaver come to torment her.

His eyes drifted down her slender, red-clad frame to where her hand rested over a small bump at her belly. Pregnant. Keigan kept the surprise he felt off his face with effort. Of course. She'd been bred. He should have known. Is that what she'd done this whole time, since the beginning of the endeavor? Probably. That bad taste flooded his mouth again.

Around them, the salvage team who'd reclaimed Silva's property shifted and muttered in the prolonged silence. Keigan cleared his throat. "Alright, we'll take her back to HQ. You lot are to come with me for debriefing."

"But we've a group of squaddies that need evac in-" started a turian, Mads, he recalled now. Leader of this salvage op.

Keigan silenced him with a slice of his hand through the air. "Orders. Everyone who's made contact with this slave or whoever took out our compound is to come home to answer some questions, clear up some discrepancies." The lies fell off his tongue with sickening ease. Oh, they'd be assessed, but by him on the way. Anyone who failed probably wouldn't make it to HQ.

They grumbled, but gathered their things and boarded the shuttle at his back. Keigan took the slave by the elbow and steered her into the vehicle. She went without complaint, placid and docile. She sat where directed and closed her eyes. Her hand never left her midsection.

Keigan found his eye drawn to her as they took off for the destroyer in orbit. Then, over her shoulder, he saw the facility through the porthole. Wrecked and burning, the buildings crumbled in the lee of the mountain that cradled it. He'd seen it on the way in, and hardly believed the sheer amount of devastation he saw. Just what happened? Did an entire army come to raze the breeding compound?

"I only ever saw the one," said a voice to the side, at his shoulder. Keigan started, then realized he'd spoke aloud and cursed himself. He turned to meet the green gaze of Mads. The bareface smiled at his incredulity.

Another member of the team, a salarian, Sek-something, nodded from across the way. "Just one. An asari."

"God, she was fast. Biotic. Stronger than any I've ever seen. Just . . . blue fire everywhere, lifting people, crushing people," added yet another.

"I swear I recognized her. Seen her likeness somewhere . . .." Soon, the men chattered excitedly about who the asari might be and why she'd attacked the facility. They started to argue about particulars, never realizing that with every word, they further condemned themselves. Keigan resisted the urge to cover his ears.

A soft, melodic voice cut through their squabbling. "She was a justicar. She came for Boss Silva."

Every eye turned to the slave in their midst, who stared down at her belly. Keigan stood, swaying with the shuttle and stated, cold as he could, "Shut up."

Her frightened eyes darted up to him, then away. Her pretty face colored, then stilled into a blank mask.

Keigan looked around at the mercs seated around him. He saw that the damage had been done in every intrigued and enthralled face. "And that goes for the rest of you. No one is to talk about this before I debrief every last one of you. No confused jumble of what happened. No rumors or exaggerations. No messages out or in about this."

He sat once more and flicked his tongue over his teeth. Shit. They'd probably all have to die now. He leaned his head back, resting his fringe against the bulkhead. His hands twitched, and his heart grew heavier with every passing second. Kill these largely blameless grunts? Or defy Silva?

A question to which he already knew the answer.

But how?

Hours later, he finally came up with a plan. The men in question bunked aft of the small engine room, crammed into what little cargo space this destroyer boasted. All he had to do: Seal off the lower level from the ones that bracketed it and evac all the breathing air. The only problem with the plan: The slave. She was down there, too. In the one-man brig, little more than a kennel really.

Silva had been explicit in her order to bring the slave to her. Alive.

Keigan sighed as he put the ship on autopilot, instructing the VI to alert him to any trouble on his omnitool. He'd dismissed the destroyer's original crew because of the clandestine nature of his mission. Thankful for that now, not having to deal with more collateral, he made his way down into the bowels of the ship. He paused by the equipment lockers to triple-encode them. He did the same to the engine room door.

Coming upon the brig, he heard voices. Or rather, just one. Male. Coaxing. "-on, sweet thing. Just a little taste. I haven't seen a female as fine as you in a long time. Give a soldier some comfort, won't-"

"What's going on here?" Keigan strode around the corner to see a merc crouched in front of the cage, hands reached through to grab at the slave. She huddled at the far end, kicking at his grubby digits. She whimpered in fear.

Tonio stood with haste, his sweaty human face all scrunched with embarrassment. "Oh, I-I just-"

"Leave her be. Silva wants her whole."

"C'mon, boss, it's just a bit of fun. Not like she ain't used to it."

Disgusted, Keigan shoved the human away from the cage. "Get back to your bunk." Then he turned and opened the cage with a keyed sequence from his omnitool. He reached in and grabbed the woman, whose eyes nearly rolled out of her skull in panic. Yet, she didn't make a sound.

"Oi! Where you takin' her?" Tonio demanded, brows crinkling.

Pasting a leer on his face, Keigan said, "Captain's privilege. She's coming upstairs with me."

The slave gasped, but other than a sagging of her knees, she didn't struggle. Tonio laughed, a cruel sound. "Ha! When you're done with her, how 'bout giving her to us? We promise to play nice."

He bundled her into the elevator and shot back, "Perhaps."

The merc's snide 'hur hur hurr' followed him. With a grimace, he let go of the slave as soon as the door closed. She flung herself into a far corner and cowered.

Keigan opened his omnitool and started shutting off all the access points between the decks. The shuttle, he'd disabled earlier, so no fear of the mercs escaping that way. Other than an escape pod upstairs off the cockpit, no other way out existed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her steady and frightened regard on him. He sighed. "Relax. I'm not interested in raping you."

She clearly didn't believe him, if the sudden creasing of her brow and the frown were any indication.

Keigan rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "I like my sexual partners willing. And eager."

The fact that he didn't make a move toward her seemed to convince her a bit. When the doors of the elevator opened, he stepped out. After a few steps, he realized she didn't follow and turned back. "Well?"

Her huge amber eyes flicked left and right, as though she expected a hundred mercs to come rushing out of the walls to tear her apart.

Vaguely amused, he commented, "You can stay in there if you like, but I'm about to lock it for the interim. You'll be stuck for hours without a bathroom or food or anywhere to sit but cold, plasteel floors."

She stepped out with care, slow and cautious. Peering around, she whispered, "You're alone?"

"I am. And before you think that might afford you a chance to escape, very shortly you and I will be the only ones aboard. I'm pretty sure you can't pilot this thing." He turned on his heel and strode toward the cockpit.

Timid as a rodent, she scurried along in his wake, hugging the walls. He could hear the swish of her tunic against the corridor. He plopped into the helmsman's chair.

"I gave up on escape around the third pregnancy." Brave, to be so outspoken. He glanced at her rigid, blank face and wondered if it hid devastation. Or if she'd become numb to it all. She crouched at his side and looked up at him, confused. "What did you mean, 'we'll be the only ones aboard?'"

"It means that those poor bastards downst-" A loud beeping interrupted him and he leaned forward over the map. A large orange triangle flew toward them. "Incoming ship."

Keigan flipped on the exterior cameras and goggled at the unfamiliar silhouette barreling to meet them. Segmented into two elongated oblongs, aft larger than fore, the ship altered its course slightly to bring itself alongside them. It tripped the proximity alarm, a ear-piercing wail that ripped from every speaker in the destroyer. He winced in reaction.

Large, clawlike 'legs' extended out from under the intruder's keel. It then flipped that side to face them. Those claws reached out and grabbed the smaller ship. Ripping and tearing sounds echoed throughout their vessel.

Yells flooded his comms, the men downstairs shouting for a status report. Mads' face filled his screen. "What the fuck is going on?!"

"Ship. Profile unknown. They've latched onto us!" Keigan looked back along the corridor to the sealed elevator and saw how it rippled and bucked, filling his ears with the sound of tortured metal.

"Boarding us?"

"I don't know." Over the comms, he heard the other mercs shouting in dismay at finding the weapons lockers sealed. "Kinetic barrier's just holding!"

"Why can't we get to our guns?" Furious, the bareface's voice hitched into the shrill octaves. "Unlock the damn lockers, Keigan!"

"I-I can't from here. And the elevator is sealed." Horror flooded his veins as an unnatural clicking sounded through the link. The mercs shouted in terror. Keigan rasped, "I cut off that whole level."

Mads' green stare went flat and he accused, "You never meant to take us back, did you?"

Shame chased along his spine. "She-she ordered-"

Something rolled past Mads on the screen and skewered one of his juniors on the end of a bayonet. Then it stood straight and Keigan saw it clear. Some kind of machine with a large light mounted in the center of its head. Mads shouted in alarm and the screen jittered and shook as the turian and whatever was left of his crew tried to evade the invaders. Mads shouted through the link, "Override! Manual override! Give me the code!"

Shocked out of inaction, Keigan's fingers poised over the circuit to do just that. He hesitated.

Mads must have sensed his doubt, for he brought the camera back up to look through it and beseeched, "Not like this. Not like this, Keigan. Let us die with our guns in our hands. Give us that much."

Unable to block that plea out, he hit the circuit. He heard the shouts of elation mingle with the screams of pain and terror. Raucous report of gunfire flooded the link. His hand kept reaching for the cut-off, but he forced himself to listen. He meant to kill them, witnessing it was the least he could do. Each fresh wail or howl cut him, whipped him like lashes. He heard them fall, crying out for mercy for what seemed like an eternity before more gunfire silenced them, one by one.

Something squeezed his hand. He jumped, then turned to the slave woman who'd put her hand over his. A last burst of fire rat-a-tatted through the comms, then silence. Keigan swallowed hard.

A grinding, whirring sound from behind them made him rise and spin. Someone unlocked the elevator. He whirled back to the helm. Someone hacked into the whole system! The sounds of the ship changed. It chittered and buzzed all around him. The controls balked at his touch, denying him access to any of the ship's functions. He cringed away from the monitors. In panic, he grabbed the slave's hand and bolted for the one place they might be safe.

"Where?" Breathless, she asked. Again, it struck him that he must have spoken out loud.

Stopping at a seemingly empty portion of wall in one of the maintenance rooms, he prodded at the false panel. He mouthed, in case someone listened, '_Smuggler's hold.'_

It opened with a sighing sound, revealing a dark and empty chamber. Keigan thrust her in before him and shut the panel again just as the elevator door hissed opened. He locked it with a twist to the mechanical seal, feeling rather than hearing the bolts slide into place deep inside the walls.

Heart pounding, he stepped back and back until his spine touched hull. Blinded, he listened hard, though through the sound-proofed walls he knew he'd hear nothing. The slave whimpered and he felt her hands fumble over his chestguard. He pulled her to him and they slid down the bulkhead together, arms clasped around each other like scared children.

Breathing harsh in the small space, he tried not to conjure horrors. If the invaders discovered them, it would be sudden, heart-stopping. And then, they'd be dead.

The woman at his side breathed, "Will they find us?"

"We can only hope they don't. No sensors can penetrate in here, no sound should escape," he whispered back, so soft. As if to call him a liar, a distant thumping, grinding noise drifted to them, along with a low and deep vibration. He froze, as did the slave.

A tense silence passed. Then, the woman asked, in that same wispy hiss, "What were those things?"

"I don't-I don't know," he answered in kind. A shiver escaped him. "Some kind of machines. Mechs, maybe."

"Those-those men . . .."

Keigan choked back a gag, shaking his head as if to clear it.

But the woman didn't relent. "You w-were going to kill them-"

He cut her off with a warning growl, then flinched as the pounding outside increased for a moment. When it subsided, he whispered, "I do what I'm told to do. Nothing more. Nothing less."

She shivered against him, but didn't push him away. For some reason, he didn't mind. In fact, he felt a strange sort of gladness to have the comfort of another person in this dire circumstance.

He spoke to alleviate some of the fear, "I meant to do it quick, clean. Vent the deck. They'd have passed out in three minutes. Been dead in six to ten. With luck, they'd have never known what hit them."

"Mercy? Or cowardice?" Said any other way, he might have taken it as accusation. But her voice brooked no judgment and while his skin crawled with guilt, he found in himself no anger at the question.

So, he spoke truth. "Both." And in acceptance of that, relief tickled at him. Tension flowed out of him. He realized it was probably the truest thing he'd said in ages. So honest, that he repeated it, "I am a coward."

He huffed and smiled in the dark. Keigan didn't even care any more if those machines out there found them. If they did, he could do nothing about it. Relaxed now and feeling a fatalistic sort of cheer, he sighed and leaned back his head to rest on the wall.

Keigan almost dozed off when a soft hand found his mandible. It traced up his neck and found that sensitive spot under his fringe. A rattling, breathy moan tore out of his throat before he could stop himself. His own hands darted up to wrap around her wrists. He tried to search her out by sight, but the total darkness thwarted him. "What are you doing?"

She shifted to straddle his legs. "Please. Let me." And her fingers did that thing again. He arched his neck as a wave of pleasure emanated from that spot throughout his body.

"No. Stop. You don't have to-" Thinking came hard when her soft lips found his throat, even harder when her clever digits started to peel away his armor. He forcibly pulled her hands off him, though his cock shouted at him for stopping her.

A choked sob came out of her. He let her wrists go, thinking he'd hurt her. She cupped his face in her hands and whispered, "Do . . . do you know what it's like to be bred like cattle? They force you to lie there while another slave ruts atop you. Cold, clinical impregnation. The-the stud moves in and out like a machine. He doesn't want to be there any more than you do. But if you fight it, then they drug you and do it anyway. Better to lie still and accept. Let your mind travel back into happier memories. But soon, even those begin to pale and you start to wonder if they'd ever really happened at all."

Stunned into silence, he could only cringe as the images she conjured bludgeoned him.

"Let me . . . touch you, and pretend that I am just a . . . a person touching another person," she begged, then pressed her lips to his mouthplates.

She needed this, he realized. She needed to reclaim this small piece of her. To help temper all future evils visited on her. This small defiance. The time she, as a slave, lay with a man because she wanted to, not because she'd had it forced upon her.

A heat pooled in his guts, a mirror to her audacity. Keigan trembled as it broke over him in waves, like he'd heard oceans do. Giving in this rebellious act, he ran his hands down to cup her buttocks under the tunic. She writhed under his hands, her skin soft as silk. With his last ounce of will, he asked, "Are you sure, Celeste?"

"I am sure, Keigan."

She pulled him down into rapture, wrapped in her soft embrace. At this madness, he wanted to laugh. Or scream. Not sure which would come out of his mouth if he opened it, he sighed, instead. Deep and long and purifying.

He found her willing. And so very eager.


	4. Chapter 4

"She said her name was Astraea and that she'd come to kill the usurper."

A shiver rolled up his back at those words, along with a confused jumble of emotion. Hope and terror. "She didn't know it was just one of many breeding compounds?"

They no longer whispered. Many hours had past and only silence filled the ship now. Celeste shook her head against his shoulder, saying, "She'd taken a Cultivator alive and questioned him. When he told her that Silva had many outposts for breeding, she became so grim. But her eyes blazed with compassion as she looked at us. I think she meant to free us. Then the salvage team arrived, guns blazing. She was forced to retreat. Everyone but me died in the crossfire."

Keigan hummed and pulled her closer just to feel the comfort it brought to do so. He mused aloud, "The usurper. I wonder what that means."

"I don't know." The slave lifted her head and shifted, looking in the direction of the door he knew. "Do you think they're still out there?"

"It's been hours. Perhaps not." He sat up and crawled along the wall to the lock. Putting his aural canal to the egress, he listened for any sound, large or small. Nothing. He said to his companion, "The heat and air are still on. If they meant to scuttle us, they'd have done it long ago."

"Maybe we should wait some more," she blurted, voice trembling.

"Eventually, we're going to have to go out anyway. For food, if nothing else."

Her hand sought his in the dark, pulling him back. "Are you still going to take me to Silva?"

Keigan opened and closed his mouth a couple times, before finding the words he had to say, "I-I can't defy her, Celeste."

"We can run. We can beg amnesty of the Council. Sha'ira-"

"She will find us. You don't know her. If she thinks you belong to her, she will never stop hunting you. She never lets anything she owns escape." He shivered, head to toe. "I should know. She's made me do her dirty work often enough, chasing and killing my former comrades. And some . . . not so former."

Those men who'd died downstairs could attest to that. He scrunched his eyes closed at the sharp stab of shame, croaking, "Plus, I'm a coward, remember?"

A long silence from the woman at his side. Then she said, her voice sad, but distant, "I understand."

"I'm sorry. So very sorry." Keigan turned and pulled her to him, hugging her. He felt her hand between them resting in its usual place over her protruding belly. "We _could_ run. And for a time, we might be happier in whatever new lives we find. But then, one day, once we've let our guard down, once we've gained things we'd hate to lose, loved ones, friends," he put his hand over hers at her midsection, as he finished, "once we start cherishing things, we'll turn around and her shadow will darken our doorstep."

He smelled saltwater and knew she wept. She tucked her face into his shoulder and whispered, "I never got to see any of them. Nine children born of my body and I never got to hold them, or touch them, or kiss them."

Keigan rocked her through her sobs, petting her hair. He cursed himself for his own part in her misery, mumbling over and over again, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I have their names locked in my heart. What I would have named them, if slave-born had names." She sniffed, sharp and loud, and pulled away.

A thump against his hand startled him and he looked down, though seeing remained impossible. It came again and he felt his mandibles spread in amazement.

Celeste laughed, clear and bright. "I can't see you, but I have the feeling you look a bit silly at the moment."

He made his mandibles retract and huffed in mock-consternation. Then, because he had to know, some deep part of him needed to know, he asked, "Did you name this one yet?"

And she told him. He tucked the beautiful, bright yet sorrowful secret way back in his mind, perhaps to pull out whenever despair came to haunt him. The woman and her helpless hope for her unborn, unlucky child. How it warmed and saddened at the same time.

Keigan went back to the lock and turned it. Again, he felt the bolts slide, this time in reverse. The door popped open with a sigh and he widened it a crack, wincing as the orange emergency lighting pierced his darkness-attuned eyes. Then, he held his breath and listened. Other than a crackling and occasional pop from the cockpit, he heard nothing. The air smelled a little stale. Perhaps the atmo had started to fail?

Never a good sign. He swung the portal further in and stepped out, treading light as he could. Celeste came out in his wake, shielding her eyes from the glow around them. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with a hand across her mouth. He shook his head and mouthed, '_Not until we're sure they're gone.'_

She nodded to show she understood and followed as he led them out of the maintenance room and into the corridor leading from elevator to cockpit. So far, no sign of their invaders. Keigan stalked with slow patience toward the ship's controls, checking everything as he passed. Empty. Then, he finally stood before the helm and saw that where there should have been bright lines of code, only a tangle of junk data remained. No telemetry, no starcharts, nothing.

He stood straight again with frustration and growled, "This thing is fucking usele-"

_"K-k-k-k-bzzz-ckckkekckgh!" _From behind them came the terrifying chitter. Keigan spun to see the elevator doors open on a monstrosity of metal. It unfolded itself and stood on four legs, head huge and glowing at them like a floodlight.

Cursing, he threw up a barrier just as the thing opened fire. A rapid series of concussive blasts rocked him and he fought hard to keep the shield in place. His neck started to burn where his amp touched skin. At his side, Celeste scrambled, looking for anything to use as a weapon.

Keigan grunted through the migraine that blossomed in his skull, "Pistol! Chair. Holster on the right."

The machine started towards them, moving through the tight space in an awkward shamble. Celeste tried to press the pistol to his hand, but he shook his head. "I need both hands free! Shoot it!"

"But I can't-I don't know how to-" she stammered.

"Just point and pull the trigger! The damn thing takes up the whole corridor!" The barrier failed at last and he threw a lift at the machine with a growl. It didn't fling the beast into the air, but it did take away the thing's ability to act. It bounced from floor to ceiling and back, flopping in almost comical disarray.

Celeste peppered it with round after round, the pistol whined many times as it overheated. Keigan groaned as his series of shockwaves drained him. His headache scoured the inside of his skull. The thing stood once more and its eye flared. Wincing at the agony it caused him, Keigan raised another barrier. He tasted blood as those blue bolts of light pounded into his shield.

One saving grace, it seemed it couldn't shoot and move at the same time. But as another salvo shattered upon his barrier, Keigan felt his knees go. With a clatter, he knelt on the deck. Celeste knelt by him, her face stark with terror and resolve. She looked so beautiful in that moment. The shield flickered and died. Keigan flung another weak lift at the machine as it advanced. He turned to the woman. "I don't think I can keep this up much longer."

She smiled, fierce and wild as she continued to shoot at the monster, doing her damnedest to whittle away the weapon's almost inexhaustible ammo block. "I understand those men now. Better to fight for the next breath. Better to never give up. Even if death has come."

Her determination gave him strength, and his hand found her cheek. Suddenly, he couldn't stand the thought of her going back to Silva, to wither into nothing. If they got out of this, Silva or no, he'd take her and make a run for it.

The buzz and whirr of the machine told him it had got back up again. Keigan clambered back to his feet and stared down the machine that headed his way. Soon, it loomed over him, the flaps above its eye tilting this way and that as if trying to puzzle out why he wasn't running away. Then its eye began to flare once more.

Dredging up the last of his reserve, Keigan put up a shield. It wobbled and warped, but held against the blasts. It felt like his bones had gone to jelly, his blood like liquid fire in his veins, his brains screamed at him to let go of the power frying him from the inside out, but he could not. Would not.

If he could be a tenth as courageous as the slave woman behind him, then that would please him mightily. He glared up at the machine, though it had hammered him near flat under the flickering barrier and shouted, "I . . . am a son . . . of Scipio Haedus! _And I defy you!"_

Reaching deep, he called up everything, anything. Lines of force streaked along his arms as he flexed his talons. The metal beast lifted into the air, laborious and slow. Its head swiveled around in obvious confusion.

A shriek wrenched itself from his throat as he felt something inside tear and burn, but he grasped the tattered edges with his will and pushed harder than ever before. His hands, he shaped into a cage and brought together slowly, as though crushing something within. The whine and creak of twisted metal told him his efforts bore fruit. Yet, he pushed on, though the sense of something going horribly wrong swelled and consumed him.

Through narrow slits, he watched that behemoth warp and dwindle, compacted into a rough crumpled ball. Then, its head light flickered and died.

The deck tilted crazily and met him on the way down into darkness. He smelt something burning and wrinkled his nose. Someone touched his face and turned him onto his back, though he tried to open his mouth and tell them to stop before they . . . _spilled_ him. Nevertheless, something ebbed and trickled away from him, leaking into the great beyond no matter how he tried to contain it.

Through the roaring agony in his head, he thought he heard Celeste's voice, begging, pleading with him to wake. With great effort, he surfaced long enough to mumble, "Escape pod . . .."

Then, nothingness.

* * *

He woke with a start and knew immediately that something was very amiss.

Nothing felt quite right. His body seemed to fit him like a stranger's clothes, too tight or too loose. That description failed to describe the feeling that some factor had gone missing. Perhaps the analogy of a childhood home found empty and abandoned might be better.

"Ruined," called a soft voice from the door. His eyes flicked over to see Silva leaning on the doorway, a foreign expression on her face. For one, no smile lingered there. It put him on edge in an instant.

His mouth worked to make saliva enough to speak and in doing so, he became aware of something soft and padded wrapped around his head and neck. Keigan touched the bandages, wondering just what the hell happened, but an image flashed in his mind's eye. A metal machine he'd crushed with only his biotics. He shouldn't have been able to do that. At the least, channeling that much biotic energy all at once should have killed him, melted his wetware into soup.

He finally found some words, "H-how . . . did I get . . .?"

"Here?" The corners of her mouth lifted briefly, then fell. She strode to the hospital bed's side and sat there. "You activated the escape pod's emergency protocol. It sent out a distress signal directly to me."

_No, I'm pretty sure I didn't. I was probably leaking brains all over the deck right after that fight. Celeste must have-, _he cut the thought off before she could read it in his eyes and nodded.

Silva's hand came up to caress his cheek. He trembled and hoped she read it as relief, not the terror that gripped his guts in icy talons. She whispered, "My poor Keigan. My brave Keigan." The sincere pity in her voice alarmed him.

"You-you said, 'ruined'," he rasped, dreading what that could mean.

The asari looked away. "You've burnt out."

It took him a moment to process those appalling words, that hideous phrase. 'Burnt out.' A biotic's worst nightmare. It meant the powers that had swept through the expanse of his body since the day they manifested were now forever beyond his reach. "No . . .."

Now the feeling made sense. Now the 'lack' of that vital something had a name, one that filled him with horrific panic. The monitors that measured his heartbeat sped up, their beeping loud in his ears. His vision started to turn blue around the edges. Breath came fast, but difficult, his chest felt like a hundred pound weight lay on it.

'Ruined.' A perfect word for it.

Sudden pain exploded on his right cheek. It shocked him back to awareness. Keigan blinked as the panic broke and fluttered back into the darker recesses of his mind. Icy blue eyes only inches from his demanded his attention. Silva said, "Stay with me, Keigan. I still need you."

Choking back the bile that had risen, he coughed and sputtered a bitter, "Why? I'm ruined. I'm surprised you let me wake."

She frowned in consternation. "I don't waste what I can still use. I need to hear from you what happened."

He tried to lean further back into the cushions to put a little distance between them. That awful cowardice started to creep back into his heart. Strange how that comforted him, like in a suddenly topsy-turvy world, he could still depend on Silva to scare the ever-loving fuck out of him.

Keigan worked some more saliva into his dry mouth and started, "I got to the compound and found the salvage team there. They had the slave in custody awaiting my arrival. I convinced them to come back with me so I had more time to ascertain whether or not they knew too much. Turned out, they didn't. Most of the outpost had been destroyed by the invader before they got there. They never saw who did it."

Was that relief in Silva's eyes? The longer he spoke, the brighter it grew, until he knew it without a doubt. Silva queried, "And the slave?"

"Never spoke a word." It took all of his willpower to be convincing, hold her gaze and let the lie pass his teeth, smooth and easy. He hoped that Celeste had been smart during her questioning and said the same. He decided to take the focus off the slave. "Then these machines attacked my ship."

"Tell me more about that."

He almost sighed in relief that she let him steer her to another subject. In short, concise sentences, he outlined what occurred. Of course, he omitted a few . . . things.

When he fell silent once more, wearied in mind and body, she hummed deep in her throat. Then, drumming her fingers on a painted bottom lip, she said, "Geth. They sound like geth. You probably tripped a trap they meant for whoever stumbled across that derelict."

"Geth?"

"Yes, I'd heard there had been more and more sightings of them out here in the Terminus Systems." Silva's eyes flashed as her thoughts turned inward.

Keigan's eyes kept trying to close and the asari seemed to notice this at last, standing with a smile on her face. "Rest, old friend. I'll make sure the medical staff . . . sees to your comfort."

A sentence that could be taken many ways, most of them unpleasant. Keigan asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Silva's mouth turned up into an engaging smile, though her eyes remained cold. "Should I?"

All at once, his previous pain resurfaced. Along with the sorrow over the loss of his biotics. It cut him, so deep. He felt like an amputee. He kept expecting the energy to be there waiting for his call, and it wasn't. It never would be again. Despair chased sorrow around in his ribcage and he _almost_ said, 'Yes. What do I have to offer anyone any more? Nothing.'

Then a gentle but firm voice rose out of his memory, '_Better to fight for every breath. Better to never give up.' _It shamed him. He looked up and realized Silva awaited his answer. He grunted a simple, "No."

Teeth flashed in her smile. "Doubtless you'll find a way to make yourself useful before too long. Like a feline, you always seem to land on your feet. Plus, I do owe you a debt for bringing me the slave."

Unable to help himself, he asked, "What will happen to her?"

"Don't worry. It's been dealt with."

He tucked the sudden alarm away under a bland, curious mask. "Dead?"

"Oh, goodness, no. That would be a terrible waste. And there's her unborn child to consider. Last of her brood, more than likely. Might get more for it for just that reason someday." Silva turned at the door and smirked. "She just won't ever tell anyone what she might or might not have seen. I'll keep her close, though. Stable her with the body-slaves."

Keigan grimaced as soon as Silva left his line of sight, only to suck in a breath and freeze when her head reappeared around the door frame.

She took in his discomfort with a supercilious little grin. "Oh, and Keigan, don't you wander too far, either."

A shiver rolled through him as the door finally shut. Shut as firm as the jaws of any trap he'd ever seen.


	5. Chapter 5

"How the mighty have fallen, eh?"

With bleary eyes, Keigan focused on the human a sour and solemn look. Then, he looked back into his drink. "Turk."

His fellow merc put his burden on the ground and gave it a kick. All long, mangy black hair and pale, flashing limbs, it scurried off into the dark under a nearby table. Keigan's gaze followed it. _A child?_

He could just see its silhouette under there, and the feral gleam of its eyes. He made out the brown rags it wore. A slave then.

"Haven't seen you in five years and all you got for me is 'Turk?'" grumbled his fellow merc as he slid onto the barstool to Keigan's right.

Keigan washed the taste of vomit out of his mouth with another swig of liquor. "Whaddya want, Turk?"

"Oh, I dunno, a 'it's been ages, Turk' or 'how ya been, Turk' would be nice. I'd settle for hello." Turk laughed.

The turian pointedly took another draw of his drink, glaring at the human sidelong.

Turk's face went from smiling to scowling in the blink of an eye. "Still think you're better than the rest, huh? Too good for the likes of us?"

Silent, Keigan counted to ten. He tapped his talons on his glass and waited.

"I'm talking to you, fuc-" Turk snarled, reaching for him.

In seconds, Keigan slammed the human's face into the bar and held him there while he twisted Turk's arm up behind the human's back. Turk grunted in pain, but pinned, could only flail his other arm, helpless. Keigan leaned down close to the man's ear and hissed, "I'm getting tired of all my old 'friends,'" he spat that word like it tasted foul, "coming to check up on ol' Keigan, thinking to give him a poke, see if he's lost his killing spirit. Well, I think I've got just enough left to bleed you good. Maybe enough to bite that fool head completely off."

He bared his teeth for effect and rumbled pure fury. Turk's eyes widened in panic. "No, it ain't like that-"

Keigan growled even louder and gave Turk's arm another wrench.

The human gave a sharp cry, then blurted, "Okay, maybe, a little. C'mon, Keigan, it's all just for fun. I weren't gonna take it past that. Let me up, would ya?"

Seeing the man cowed, Keigan released him and plopped back into his own seat, feeling more tired than he should have from so simple an exercise. He signaled the bartender, who'd been staring with concern in their direction, for another drink. "The only reason I didn't just knife you, Turk, is the fact that I like this bar. I don't want to get banned from yet another dive for spilling blood all over their floor."

Looking wounded, Turk sat up straighter and rubbed his wrist. "Geez, touchy."

The bartender brought them their drinks and the two men sat in silence for a long time.

"Is it true, then? You ain't got no biotics any more?" asked Turk.

Keigan sighed. _It's always the same. If they haven't come to kill, then they've come for 'The Story.' _The turian snorted, then nodded.

"How's that even happen?"

The liquor burned a path down his throat. Keigan coughed before saying, "We call it 'burnt out.' But it's more like all the bio-electrical impulses tying the nodes together in my body are all out of sequence and just shunting the biotic charge out into the air around me."

Turk leaned away from him. "What? Like radioactive?"

Cute. He sneered at the human. "Unfocused, it's no more harmful than a fart on the wind."

"I dunno. I swear they could weaponize some of them gases that come out of Mogul's old ass." Turk laughed at his own 'wit.'

Keigan flicked a mandible in irritation. Why didn't the human take the hint and leave?

"So what's that like then?"

_Ruin. Getting smashed into bits and letting the best parts of you fall into a bottomless pit._

"Well, it ain't like losing a favorite rifle, if that's what you're asking." Keigan kept the tremor out of his hands with great effort. He tossed back the rest of his drink, then set his cup on the bar. "Look here. It's like . . . the glass is empty. It used to be full. It used to contain something well loved, something invigorating. Sometimes it made you feel powerful, but mostly it kept you warm. Once, something always kept the glass full, but not now. Now, it's empty because you've drunk it and there isn't any more. The glass is empty and it'll never be full again."

The human's mouth hung open. He shut it with a click. "You got a pretty turn of phrase when you want it, don't cha? Sound . . . educated."

Aware his words had gotten away from him, Keigan shot another glare at Turk. "The fuck do you care anyway?"

Turk's eyes flickered with something like anger. "Just wanted to see what sort of thing could bring someone as sharp as you down into the gutter. Look at you, mate. Used to be near the top of the food chain. Now, I hear you're living down in Rag Town. Only skids and sand-freaks live in Rag Town. You on the sand?"

Keigan laughed, a short and bitter bark. "No." As if red sand's paltry sparkly effect could ever hold a candle to his memories of what used to be his.

"Well, listen. I got me a little something you might be interested in."

"Oh?"

Turk's eyes went flat and shifty. "I got me an idea. You know how some of us get together and have little . . . parties down at the pens?"

Keigan signaled the bartender to get him another as he replied, "I don't go to that part of the rock any more. I've never gone to-"

"I know, I know, but you had to've heard about'em, yeah?" Turk interrupted. At Keigan's cautious nod, the human grinned, broad and filled with hunger. "Well, it's gettin' pretty pop'lar and me, I got my foot in early. I got me a fighter ain't never been beat in two whole years."

"That, I'm guessing." Keigan indicated the squatting shadow under the table.

"Yeah, she's a scrapper. Look, so I'm getting top cred per fight, but it's topping out fair pitiful compared to what I _could _get if more punters started showing up. Some what make more scratch than us grunts do." The human was leading him somewhere, and Keigan had an inkling where just before Turk said it. "Since you got friends in high places-"

Keigan interrupted him with a full laugh, loud but mirthless. When he got his breath back, he wheezed, "_Silva_? You want me to talk to Silva about your little pit-fighting operation?"

Turk gave him a heated glare for his mockery, lips drawn into a grim and bloodless line. Then the way he sublimated it behind clenched teeth amused Keigan so much, the turian couldn't help letting loose a couple more whooping laughs.

Heads all around turned toward them, the curious and the annoyed alike.

His fellow merc hissed and pulled at his shoulder so he could talk right into Keigan's aural canal. "Har, har. But I ain't much for sharing this little venture with all these lookie-loos, so keep it down, yeah?"

"_Boy_, you do not want to go poking that particular hive. She will eat you up and-"

"I don't need no sermonizing from you, burn out! I got a simple proposal what could make everybody a whole heap of cash. All I want from _you_," Turk looked him up and down, revealing the contempt, that Keigan knew had been there all along, in the curl of his fleshy lips and narrowed eyes, "is a goddamn introduction and maybe a good word or two."

"Much as I'd like to and watch you burn, I got no reason to do you any favors." Keigan turned his shoulder to show the stupid merc how little the turian cared for Turk's wants.

So, the human turned to wheedling, "C'mon, Keigan, we been through a whole mess of fucked up shit together. I didn't say there weren't nothing in it for you. Listen, the odds are in my favor tonight. Heavy. Like stupid heavy. Only I got a plan to make some . . . capital for this venture."

Despite himself, Keigan felt a touch of intrigue and waved for Turk to go on.

The human bent close and whispered, "My animal ain't gonna win." Then, he sat back and grinned with a disgusting amount of self-satisfaction.

Tapping his glass, Keigan rumbled, "You're going to rig the fight."

"Sh-shh. Not so loud." Turk waved at him to keep his voice down, looking around at the other patrons with suspicion. "All you have to do is bet against her and rake in the winnings after."

"Won't that mean sacrificing your fighter?" Keigan shot a look over to where the tiny slave huddled in darkness, her glowing eyes focused on them. He wondered if she could hear them or even understand them as they conspired over her fate. Surely, she must understand some common so she could do as ordered. Though, likely that might be the extent of it. Orders from on high stated no slave was to be taught how to read or write, for obvious reasons.

Turk rolled his eyes and shrugged. "If this goes like it should, I'll be able to buy the right to handle fifty just like her."

"You don't own her?"

"Pfft. No. Culls don't ever get sold, so's they don't ever get bred on accident. I just bought the right to fight her. Part of my winnings go to Silva through her bookies." Turk tapped the counter with one thick finger. "But tonight is the night, Keigan. I pull this off and my star will be on the rise. Maybe yours, too. Get back in her good graces and such. And you gotta be hurtin' for some credits. Why else would you be in this stinkin' dive in the bowels of the asteroid?"

He had a point. Keigan had to admit that the drink in his hand represented most of the last of his coin. The little work he could find with his limited ability to run, or lift, or anything physical didn't pay much. His future looked very bleak.

"Think about it. Send me a message if you get Boss Silva to at least come and see." Turk stood and said, with something that almost looked like a friendly smile, "I gotta go. Got things to take care of before the fight." He nodded toward his fighter and winked, like they shared a secret.

Ire flickered in Keigan as he thought of how the man would just throw away a life under his care like that. For money. He watched the man reach under the table and yank the scrawny human girl out. A filthy little thing in brown rags, her face hidden by her mass of matted, black hair. Turk lifted her roughly by a wrist and put her up on one of his broad shoulders. She clung to his neck to stay aloft.

As Turk turned to leave, the girl shifted so she could look back at him. Her hair parted around one huge eye. One huge_, golden _eye.

Keigan bolted upright as what felt like lightning shot up his spine. _No, it couldn't be . . .._

Then the pair left his line of sight. The turian shook his head to banish any fanciful imaginings. Then, he turned his gaze back to his drink, trying to find some clue as to what he should do in its amber depths.

He sighed, and pulled up his omnitool. Then, he did something he thought he'd never do: Invite Silva back into his life. She'd been content to leave him be as long as he never left the asteroid. Keep him close . . . just in case.

_Oh, well, it was nice while it lasted._

* * *

The pit stank of unwashed bodies and blood. They'd built a depressed platform surrounded by waist-high walls of cobbled together bits of trash. He could see the sections where they'd broken and been improved over time. Black sand covered the floor of the pit, spoil from when the asteroid had been a mining colony.

Mercs, slavers and a host of support crew filled the area from edge to edge. More people than he'd thought would be here.

"Well, _this_ has potential," drawled Silva at his elbow.

Keigan grimaced at the sarcasm in her tone. "It's not my party. I'm just the go-between."

"Interesting. Do you think to escape the consequences if this turns out to be a waste of my time?" She smiled, sweet as poison.

"Wouldn't you, in my position?" He smiled back to hide the fear.

Silva laughed and threaded her arm through his. "You always did take me to nice places."

He patted her hand where it rested on his forearm and cocked a brow at her. "I try."

The mob that filled the arena clustered at the walls and started shouting. Cheering and jeering. Turk took center-stage down there, holding his hands up to silence the crowd. He yelled, "Alright, alright! Shut it, you bastards! We'll start in a minute. But first, I want to tell you a little story."

Boos filled the air.

Turk shouted over them, "Tonight's special! Deserves a bit of pomp! We got a very important guest in the house and I mean to give my propers. Boss Silva!"

All eyes turned to their end of the pit, then lowered in respect. Awed murmurs drifted to them from every corner. The asari on his arm tilted her head, giving a slight nod, though her lips grinned in the predatory leer they'd all come to know to be wary of.

Turk cleared his throat in nervousness, then lifted his hands again like a showman. "Once, long ago, on Earth, there was a mighty empire that spanned the known world called the Romans. They built a huge arena called the Colosseum, so big it could seat near eighty thousand people. And in this Colosseum, they had games.

"The emperor, the Caesar, hosted these spectacles of blood sport. It was by his command, thumb up or down, that the gladiators lived or died on the sands. And they were glad to do so, to please their Caesar. So, I say to you now, as was once said to Caesars." Turk thrust one arm out, hand higher than his shoulder, palm down. "We who are about to die, salute you!"

A raucous cheer went up, filling Keigan's ears with a cacophony. Under it, he heard Silva remark, "Laying it on a bit thick, isn't he?"

"I see by the twinkle in your eye that you appreciate such . . . zeal." He chuffed.

Down on the sand, the first fighters made their entrance. Two human boys that looked about the same age, dressed in rudimentary armor and shin guards. They had clubs in their hands. In their wakes, strode two mercs. The men shook hands in the center and then stalked to the edge, leaving their charges facing one another.

At some unseen signal, the slaves flew at each other. The mob howled as the two boys did their best to pound the other into the ground. One screamed as an errant blow shattered an ankle. That fighter went down. The other advanced and started raining blows on him all about the head and chest. Red blood flew through the air, spattering the closest of the audience. That boy must be dead, but still the club came down, again and again.

Keigan just kept himself from cringing with every loud smack. The fallen gladiator's head started to look misshapen. With one more mighty thwack, the club lodged itself in the dead boy's skull. A handler came forth to stop the victor from trying to free it, restraining the feral little beast by wrapping his arms around the boy and picking him up bodily.

The turian wrenched his eyes away from the pit and saw that Silva's grin had widened. She wasn't looking at the arena, instead her eyes roamed over the crowd, who jumped and screamed and foamed at the mouth at such brutality.

Three more fights, each more savage than the last, made her smile even bigger. A light he knew well started to grow in her eyes. This time, he couldn't help the full-body shiver that came over him. Silva felt it, leaning on him, and shot a questioning look up at him.

Heart stuttering and self-preservation instinct screaming at him, Keigan affected a lascivious head tilt, staring back at her askance. Cheeks coloring, Silva giggled. _Giggled, _like some guileless maiden. Keigan swallowed back the bile threatening to choke him.

The crowd cheered even louder than before. It drew his attention back to the arena. Turk, smug and revolting Turk, walked in with his curious burden from the bar gracing one shoulder. Across from him, a taller turian youth approached, with a salarian merc in tow. Turk dropped his fighter on the ground. The girl scrambled up into a boneless crouch, looking up at her opponent through a curtain of dirty black hair.

The youth sneered down at her and pulled a knife from his belt. Turk drew another and threw it at his fighter's feet. She looked down at it, then back up. Her little hand darted out and picked it up.

Turk and the salarian shook hands and parted. The mob seemed to hold its breath.

The turian boy attacked first, swiping at the girl. She leapt back to avoid getting cut. He chased her, slicing. Turk's fighter kept leaping back. The third time, she nearly fell onto her hindquarters, one of her legs refusing to fold properly. Keigan's eyes narrowed in suspicion.

The mob started to jeer her cowardice. He saw her little shoulders hunch from the sound. The turian boy rushed her and instead of dodging, she flicked her own knife out to meet his. They came together with a sharp clang, sparking. The furious series of stabs and slices that followed, she parried with ease, though whatever was wrong with her leg hampered her. Soon, red stained the turian's blade while hers remained unblooded.

She stood straight after the exchange, all her weight on one leg. Bold as brass, the little fighter waved at the taller boy to come at her. She followed up with an obscene gesture she must have picked up from her merc handler. One that implied that the boy liked to suck cock. Keigan found himself crowing along with the masses at her audacity.

Her opponent, mandibles clenched in rage, charged, knife leading. On her good leg, the girl spun away from his strike. Somehow, she turned the spin into a high kick, one that connected with the youth's cheek. His flailing talons caught in her hair and threw her off balance. She went down hard in a crouch. Nearly dropped by her kick, the boy scampered away. To reassess.

He circled her, testing her with swipes that she swayed to avoid. The boy had a much longer reach than she, so she took quite a few more blows and narrowly dodged getting gutted more than once.

Keigan found himself leaning further and further forward, as the fight grew more and more intense.

Then, she stumbled and dropped her knife. Keigan gasped with all the rest.

With a cry of victory, the turian fell upon her. His blade skated along her ribs as she twisted under him. In a flurry of motion difficult to follow, somehow, the girl turned the tables and ended up straddling the turian's back. She grabbed the boy by his wrist and twisted it up behind his back. Her other hand pinned his head to the sand. The boy cried out again, in pain this time.

Viciously, she yanked at the captured arm, until the boy's knife tumbled out of his hand. Stunned, Keigan realized that it was the same maneuver he'd used on Turk not four hours ago, executed perfectly. In fact, the whole stumble had been a ruse to draw her opponent in! Awe filled him to the brim. What potential!

Keeping the boy's head pinned, she let go of his arm to snatch up the knife. In her fist, it dove over the youth's cowl and sunk deep into his neck. With a sawing motion, she cut his throat. Blue blood sprayed out onto the sands, soaked and lost in seconds. The turian youth went still. Dead.

Breath heaving, the girl sat, staring at the dead boy. Her hands, coated in brilliant blue, lay limp at her sides. Keigan's racing heart slowed, his own breath, fast and shallow, filled his ears.

Then the crowd went mad. The sound of their cheering hammered into him, almost making him sway on his feet. Turk, face frozen, stalked into the center of the pit, and shouted, "That's all the entertainment tonight, folks! Keep you posted on the next event!"

As the human turned to his slave, Keigan saw that blank mask give way to a thunderous anger. Saw the murderous intent in the merc's eyes.

Pulled by something he couldn't name, Keigan jumped into the pit. The turian's long stride ate the space between he and the merc in seconds.

"That's the last time you cost me my whole wad!" growled Turk, as he leveled a heavy kick at his charge. She didn't even dodge, just took it. Her small body went flying, colliding into one of the walls. "I'm gonna haul you to the nearest airlock an-"

Keigan's fist connected with the human's jaw just as Turk started after her. The human fell back, face twisted in confusion and rage. "What the fuck, Keigan?!"

Enraged beyond words, the turian started after him. Only to come to a halt when a soft voice behind him commented, "Indeed. Pray tell us why you punched good Turk in the face, though he did an excellent job entertaining me."

Slowly, he turned to face Silva, who'd never moved from her spot. Drawn by the drama, many others had paused to observe this exchange. He looked up at them and forced himself to not blurt out the truth. Instead, he waved at the other merc. "He gave me a bad tip. That bet cost me _everything_ I had left."

Not true, but who'd check to see if he'd actually made a bet?

Silva laughed. "So, you want restitution? Are you going to hold him upside down and shake loose change out of his pockets?"

The scornful laughter of the people watching scorched him. Keigan felt the back of his neck get hot. His arm shot out and pointed a talon at Turk's fighter, who still lay where she fell, her big eyes focused on Keigan. "I want her."

"Fuck that and fuck you, Keigan. You're not the only one wh-" Turk bit off the rest of whatever he planned to say. For good reason, too. What would happen to his little investment should it come to light that he'd tried to rig a fight? Instead, he appealed to Silva, "Boss, I paid for the little'un many times over. You always got your cut from me. I never shorted you."

"Hmm, tell you what. Fight for it." Silva stood straighter, looking down on them with imperious aloofness. "Winner take all. The slave and my attention for half an hour to sell me this idea of yours."

By the feral grin that lit Turk's face, that suited him just fine. The human turned to Keigan and gave a sardonic little bow. "Caught me sleepin' at the bar, old man. Not gonna be so lucky this time."

Keigan squared off with the merc, drawing his fists up. Trepidation trickled up his spine. Would he be able to take the human? In his condition?

"You're not gonna jump my claim, Keigan. I'm gonna tear your head off and stick it on a pole outside the 'rena." Turk circled, mirroring his stance.

Exasperated, the turian sighed. "Shut the fuck up and fight already."

With a shout, Turk waded in, leveling a stinging blow to Keigan's cheek. It hurt more than he let on, but he shrugged it off with a return blow to Turk's stomach. The human fell back with an 'oof', then blocked Keigan's follow up jab. The two men traded blows on the sand of that arena.

Limbs aching, heart pounding, Keigan wiped acrid sweat from his brow and tried not to feel how his body trembled. _Tired, already. Bad sign._

"S'matter, Keigan? Runnin' out of juice?" snarked the human, who still looked fresh and unfazed. "Feelin' a bit like an emp-_tee_ glass?"

With a snarl, Keigan lashed out with a kick that caught Turk's ankle. The merc stumbled, but didn't fall. Keigan wheezed, "You talk too much. You've always talked too much."

"And you're useless! Burnt out!" Turk launched a flurry of wild punches. Far too many connected. Keigan reeled back under the force of them. The few he lobbed back in retaliation felt weak. Turk continued his tirade, "Always actin' the nob! Lookin' down your nose at us! With your big words and showin' off your powers! Well, without them, you ain't nothin'! I'm not just gonna put you out. I'm gonna put you _down!"_

With a vicious kick, Turn snapped Keigan's left leg spur. The turian screamed through gritted teeth and fell back. He looked down and saw it dangling off his leg, askew. Limping, he retreated a few paces, then reached down to touch the spur. He hissed as he slapped his medigel dispenser. Numbness flowed down his leg and with a pained grunt, he wrenched the spur back into alignment.

He looked up at the sound of pounding feet headed in his direction. Turk barreled at him, shoulder leading, clearly meaning to take him down with his bulk.

Keigan pulled his lips back from his teeth and dropped into a crouch, arms stretched wide. They collided. Keigan, closer to the ground, used that as leverage to lift the human up and over, plated back bending in a way it wasn't meant to. But gravity did its work like a craftsman. Their momentum carried them to the ground in almost a somersault, with Turk under him. Keigan felt something give with an audible crunch and the human shrieked in agony, clutching at his arm, which bent just under the shoulder at a sickening angle.

Not one to waste opportunity, Keigan flipped over and grabbed Turk by the throat in one hand and the broken humerus in the other. He squeezed both. Turk yelped again, his eyes clenched shut in his bloody face. He tried to punch Keigan, but the turian shifted to pin his fist with a knee.

Slow clapping from the side grabbed his attention. Silva, her face lit in hellish glee, looked down upon Keigan's impending victory. Turk's eyes opened to plead with her, his mouth moving, but no sound came out. Her hand extended out to them, thumb out to the side. He watched her milk the moment, everyone waiting with bated breath for her judgment.

Then, she said out of her smiling lips, soft and sweet, "Kill him."

Her hand rotated until that thumb pointed straight up.

Mouth dry as a desert, Keigan took the now shocked into stillness Turk by the neck in the curl of his bicep. His other hand turned the human's head to an untenable angle. With every last ounce of strength left in him, he gave a jerk. Turk's neck snapped. His body went limp.

He stood and looked down on his former comrade with satisfaction mixed with relief and a touch of regret. His body shook with reaction.

Silva hummed a little laugh. "Claim your prize, Keigan. Then come find me when you're ready." She spun on her heel and left, taking the rest of the spectators with her.

He turned to regard his 'prize.' The slave crouched by the wall she'd been kicked into. She watched him with worry in her big, round eyes. Keigan gestured for her to come to him.

Dragging her weak leg behind her, she limped forward until she stood in his shadow, looking up at him. Her expression, what he could see of it anyway, settled into blank acceptance.

The turian took a step, then winced as his broken spur lanced pain all the way up his leg. Keigan huffed a helpless little laugh. "Look at the pair of us. Lame and bloody."

She didn't answer, only waited for orders. He almost couldn't believe this girl had killed a turian youth years her senior with such blinding ferocity.

Keigan punched the panel on his hardsuit to administer the rest of his medigel. It took effect and he sighed in relief. He flexed his leg and tested it, taking a few experimental steps. Walking wouldn't be easy, but it was doable. What to do about his new charge, though?

The slave waited while he considered. Sighing again, Keigan reached down and picked her up, putting her to a shoulder like he'd seen Turk do. She clung to him, juggling around to settle in a somewhat balanced position. He found her additional weight negligible.

He wrinkled his nose. "You need a bath." Then he smelled himself. "We both need a bath. But first, let's go find out what's wrong with your leg."

The fighter said nothing. Perhaps mute? He frowned at the thought as he took them both out of there and away.


	6. Chapter 6

"It's not time for that one's yearlies yet," grumbled the batarian medic. He didn't even look up from his work, just spared them a glance from his upper eye row.

"Something seems to have made her lame." Keigan plucked the slave off his shoulder and set her amid all the datapads that littered the desk.

Talq wrinkled his nose in disgust. "Couldn't you have at least hosed the animal off? She's getting biohazard all over my clinic!"

Keigan huffed in exasperation. "The sooner you fix her, the sooner we'll leave."

The batarian growled and glared up at the turian, but seeing him adamant, just rolled all four eyes and threw his hands in the air. He warned, "It's going to cost you."

"I have creds," snapped Keigan, folding his arms across his chest.

Talq turned his attention to the slave, his dark eyes flicking over her, noting the one leg held behind and to the side while the whole of her weight rested on the other. He twirled a finger. "Turn around."

She spun and nearly fell. Keigan steadied her with his hands. He found himself looking down into big amber eyes that stared back with an awful sort of gratitude. His stomach roiled.

"Ah, here's your problem," called Talq, drawing his attention down to the girl's ankle. There, under all the blood and dirt, something metal winked at him.

Keigan frowned. "The fuck is that?"

"I seen it done before. Mostly to free-borns if they have the nasty habit of trying to run away." Talq cleaned more filth away with the swipe of a wet rag. It revealed a metal bar pierced through the thinner part, above and behind the foot. "Right through the tendon. See how the foot flops? Kinda funny, ain't it?"

The turian ground his teeth to keep from punching the medic in his smug face. "Can you take it out?"

"Sure." Grasping the metal by thumb and forefinger, Talq gave it a vicious yank. The girl cried out as it tore free. Blood wept out of the wound and dripped onto the desk. The batarian tossed the bar in the garbage and turned back to his datapads. "Pack it with medi-gel and the animal will be right as rain in a few days."

Ripping his tongue free of the roof of a mouth gone bone-dry in outrage, Keigan felt his blood begin to boil. The urge to kill the medic nearly overwhelmed him. He mastered the impulse with supreme effort. He growled, "Wrap it."

Talq waved a hand, and muttered, "It'll clot."

"Wrap. It." The words came out soft and deadly. Keigan leaned over the desk until his and Talq's faces lay only inches apart. Fear flickered in the medic's eyes for a moment before they hardened.

"Fine." Talq grabbed a roll of gauze and set to work. "Don't know why you're making such a big deal of such a small slave. Not even half-grown."

"I want all the information you have on her." When the batarian finished, Keigan hoisted the slave back up to his shoulder.

The medic blinked in surprise, then nodded. "I'll send you the file as soon as I receive my payment."

"Good." Keigan turned and left, resisting the temptation to spit on the floor of this immaculate clinic. Passing by a weapon vendor, he sold his pistol. Then, he went to the nearest dispensary and purchased a large quantity of medi-gel before heading back to his tiny apartment in Rag Town. The girl stayed silent throughout.

Once inside, Keigan locked the door and sighed. He wondered, _What the hell am I doing?_

He set the girl on the threadbare carpet and sat on his narrow bunk, cradling his head in his hand. He felt wearied beyond belief. His whole body ached. Not to mention, more than a little pain radiated from his spur.

He thought of Silva, probably out there somewhere gloating, pondering the benefits of this new opportunity. His mandibles clicked against his teeth in worry. She'd expect him to follow through, he knew. Or make an example out of him for failing to be like her. As hungry for the next high, or thrill, or pile of money as her.

She, the vain thing, loved to be surrounded by mirrors.

To survive, he'd have to pretend once more. He wouldn't have the luxury of anonymity his slow decline had bought him. Silva's eye was on him again.

How did his day go from his usual loitering around a favorite bar to getting into a fight to the death over a little slave girl?

Speaking of whom, she still stood where he'd put her, shivering at the unfamiliar surrounding. She really was a dirty little thing.

Keigan stood and went to his small bathroom. He dialed the tub to fill with radiant fluid, a version of medi-gel, thin and watery, that healed as it cleansed. Expensive, but . . .. Keigan started a mental catalog of things he'd have to sell to pay the bill for it.

He leaned back out into the main room. "Come here."

Limping, she hobbled toward him. Keigan sat on the toilet and gestured she stand before him. She left bloody footprints on the tile as she did so. The turian sighed again, thinking of the tracks she'd probably put all over his carpet. "Strip."

She did so with little ceremony, her rags fell around her to the ground. Keigan picked her up and put her in the tub. She shivered as the tepid, shimmery liquid closed over her. Keigan grabbed the soap and scrubber and set to work. Blood and dirt started to float to the surface. He had to drain the tub two more times before the fluid stayed fairly clear.

He turned his attention to the slave's lost cause of a tangled head of hair. He tried to put his fingers through it, to take out the worst of the snarls, but only ended up almost getting his talons trapped in it. Huffing in frustration, he drew his combat knife out of his boot sheath. The girl froze as she saw its sparkling edge come toward her face. He paused, then said, "Relax. I'm only cutting your hair. How you humans get along in life with this stuff growing out of your heads, I will never know."

Pulling a wastebasket near, he started to shear away the mass of black locks. The bin filled quickly. Finally, he sat back to admire his work. Hacked into short, uneven spikes, he could now see the myriad scars that ran along her scalp, as well as uncovering the sores having that much tangled filth lying close to her skin caused. He tut-tutted under his breath and pushed her fully under the radiant fluid. When she surfaced, sputtering, he lathered soap through what remained of her hair, commenting as he did so, "The boy you fought today could have grabbed you by all that hair, then what would you have done, hmm? Not much, I think. We'll keep it like this, short."

She seemed clean enough now. Keigan drained the tub and sprayed her down with the showerhead to sluice the rest of the fluid off her skinny limbs. He grabbed his one ratty towel and dried her off, roughly. Putting her on her unsteady feet, he started to examine the wounds just cleaning her brought to light. She had long, shallow cuts all along her ribs, making him recall that moment the turian youth had come at her with his knife. Shaking his head, he turned her. Not a single inch of skin didn't bear some mark of old hurts. On one thigh, she had a hole gouged out of her flesh, one that had begun to fester.

Grimacing, Keigan broke open a packet of disinfectant and wiped at the pus-lined gash, squeezing it to release the foul-smelling poison within. The slave bit her lip to keep from crying out. Keigan packed the wound with gauze and medi-gel and wrapped it. "Show me your ankle."

Obedient, she turned and lifted that foot. The tendon shone white through the torn flesh. He hissed as he saw how blood still trickled from it. He filled the wound with medi-gel and wrapped the whole foot with compression bandages, making a mental note to change it often. He tested how much wiggle the foot had and nodded in satisfaction at how the bandage froze the joint into a stiff ninety degrees. She should be able to walk a bit better on it.

"Turn." Keigan peered at her critically. He pulled her arms away from her sides to assess her condition and frowned at what he saw. Undernourished, her ribs stuck out over a slightly protruding belly. Scarred, twisted skin over old wounds that he could do nothing about now. And her face . . ..

Keigan reached out to grasp her chin. One cheek was a mass of scars, poorly healed. It pulled her mouth to one side slightly, giving the impression that she had a tiny sardonic smile to offer all the time. Her eyes, wide and frightened, belied that. He found himself shocked at how much . . . _panic_ hid in their golden depths.

The turian took a step back and saw how her little body trembled under his intense regard. How in her expression, there lay a fear. An . . . expectation.

Belatedly, he realized what she must be thinking and frowned. For a second, he wondered how a child would know of such things, then cut off the many explanations that occurred to him. Just the idea that . . .. No, he didn't even want to contemplate it.

Moved to reassure her, Keigan grabbed her once more by the chin not unkindly and tilted her face up so she could see his sincerity. He told her, "Only the pit. Only _ever_ the pit. Make me coin and I'll treat you like family."

Then, he wrapped her back up in the towel and stood straight.

He watched many emotions war in the girl's eyes. Doubt, terror, hope. The last prevailed. He saw it fill her expression with a blinding light. Her lips spread in a huge smile, wide and guileless.

Warmth sparked in his chest. When was the last time anyone had smiled at him like that, so open, so artless? Without his meaning to, he answered her with a smile of his own. The warmth spread. He sat on the toilet again and asked, "Can you speak?"

The slave nodded, but left it at that.

Keigan suppressed a chuckle. "I suppose a demonstration of this ability is too much to ask?"

He watched her puzzle out what he wanted. Her lips parted once or twice before she said, slow and careful, "I'us . . . d-dunno what to . . . says, mas-sur."

Wincing at her terrible syntax, not to mention her calling him 'master,' Keigan waved away the girl's obvious distress. "Not a mute, then. Good. Though your speech isn't exactly great. And you seem to understand me alright. Also good."

The girl scrunched up her little face and ran a hand over her newly shorn hair. She shaped more words with painful concentration, "N'ver . . . allooow . . . I . . . tal' 'fore, mas-sur."

"Don't call me that." He didn't bother to tell her of the unpleasant shiver that word shot up his spine, how it made his skin crawl. "I'm Keigan."

Her lips flexed around the unfamiliar word. "'Gan." She left a little space at the start, as though she knew there should be more, but couldn't get her mouth to say it.

"_Kei_-gan." He stressed the first syllable, though it did really sound more like K'gan to most.

" . . . 'G-. . . . 'Gan." She frowned at her inability to make his name sound right. The 'K' sound seemed difficult for her.

He chuckled at her furrowed brow. "Close enough."

She smiled again, and gave a tiny giggle.

"Now, little sister, go wait out in the main room while I bathe. You're not the only one in need of a good wash and some doctoring." He shooed her out and ran a hand over his face as soon as she left his sight. "What have I gotten myself into?"

An hour later, feeling refreshed and mended, more or less, Keigan left the bathroom. He stopped at the door to take in the sight before him. The slave had used the towel to scrub at the blood on the carpet, and, to her credit, had done a pretty good job, considering. Then, she passed out, huddled at the very end of his bunk. She'd wrapped herself in a bit of his blanket.

Keigan frowned at her presumption, but then realized that unless he wanted her to sleep on the floor, no other choice made itself available. He had no other furnishings. In fact, looking around his dismal little apartment, it dawned on him that it wouldn't suit. Not for the long term. And he cringed at the thought of passing her onto someone else, if her condition told truth as to how others would treat her.

A shame and a waste. Why had no one seen this girl's potential? And then to not take care of her injuries? What idiocy.

He started making a list as he pulled on some sleep attire, loose linen pants and shirt. Clothes; nothing grand so others wouldn't think he stepped over the line on how slaves should be treated. Food; for his and her chiralities wouldn't mix. He groaned at the thought of having to stock two different sets of rations for them both. Training; because if this was to be her lot in life, he'd make damn sure she got all the help from him she could take.

The mental tally of things started to weigh on the expensive side. Keigan sat on the bunk and stared at his new charge, suddenly overwhelmed by this new responsibility, the life in his care.

Slack, without a trace of the tension she held herself in while awake, her face looked sweetly innocent. He tried to reconcile this with the image he had of her in the pit. If his suspicion held true about who her mother might be . . .. He felt a need in him to watch over her, to keep her as safe as she could be given the trap in which they'd both found themselves snared. Teach her how to survive Silva.

Because of a kindness once shown to him by a slave.

Keigan considered waking her and maybe moving her to the carpet, just until he could get a bed or basket or kennel for her, but he just didn't have the heart. Instead, he curled on his side in a fetal ball, and told his body to not stretch out in sleep like it always wanted to do.

As he started to drift away into sleep, he smiled at the sound of her breathing filling the room along with his. Her warmth at his feet. The presence of another person. It soothed some ache in him he hadn't even realized had been there. A hidden hurt that made itself known in the loosening knot of his guts, the pang in his chest.

Funny, he didn't know he'd been _lonely_.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Epilogue:**_

_I used to have dreams. _

_Grand dreams that one day I'd unite my brothers and sisters of Scipio Haedus. We'd reclaim our world and such a future would rise from that windy desert ruin that all would stop and gaze upon it with awe. We'd build the spires and gardens that in my mind's eye glitter and gleam, stark and tall and as fully realized today as they'd been the first time I'd heard the stories. _

_And we'd finally _belong_ somewhere._

_I used to have dreams, but they were the dreams of all young men. The hero, the conqueror. Righting wrongs and slaying monsters. I thought that if I could fix this one enormous wrong, that the rest could be forgiven. A means to an end, I told myself. All means to my ends. _

_I see now._

_I read back through this journal and see so much . . . evil. The twisted justifications that lay under every decision. The only thing I can think of to explain why I didn't see it before is I had nothing good to hold against it. No contrast in our world of ever-darkening greys and blacks. _

_But now I do. _

_You._

_Little sister, how I wish I'd taught you how to read and write. If only to satisfy my one selfish wish that someday you'd find this and maybe think kindly of me sometimes. In this bound bit of paper and glue, I speak to you as I once spoke to my father. I'm not even sure when the switch happened. I'm sure I could pinpoint it if I bothered to look, but that's not important. All I know is, here I can talk to you of all the things I cannot tell you person to person._

_Not four hours ago, you almost died. Then, when you woke, I almost killed you. A kindness. A mercy. I wanted to give you peace. I wanted an end to your pain, an end to all the horror I felt every time I let you murder some other poor slave. Before all the killing turned you into something abominable. I can see the cracks now. You know hate now and you can use it, like any other weapon, in your hand._

_But, ever the coward, I couldn't do it. I wonder, if I cut off my hand, will it stop feeling your throat against my palm? Your pulse thumping against my thumb? No, I think that memory is forever mine now. Spawning nightmares in which I didn't stop, in which I murder what has come to mean everything to me. My gorge rises._

_I never thought I'd care so much for anyone. And in caring, hurt so much. That you can look at detestable me and say 'I love you, 'Gan' cuts me so deep. You shouldn't. I'm just as responsible as any for your situation, for all the agony your short life has delivered unto you._

_You should hate me, but you say you love me instead. You say stay, I stay. I can't say no to you. Would that you'd realize that and demand I take you far, far away from here. For you, I think I would defy Silva. I hope I would anyway._

_In you, I see so much courage. Do you know what you look like when you fight? Little you in your ragtag armor and messy hair that never gave up growing no matter how many times I cut it? _

_All that ceases to matter as soon as the bout starts. You become a whirling dervish of death with those knives in your hands. So fast, so confident in your element. And more, your face fills with such determination and . . . and _joy_. You look . . . free._

_I can't deny that every time I put you in the pit, a tiny piece of me rejoiced at being able to look upon it again and again. How sick is that? I really don't know any more. My perception of such things is skewed._

_So now I turn and look at you, asleep there in my bunk, bandaged and near destroyed, hurt deeper than just physically and I wonder what you might have been if you hadn't been born a slave. What incredible dreams you might have held for the future._

_But sometimes, I look at our lives and a feeling that things may change comes over me. Perhaps your story won't end here._

_We two are tied together in this tangled skein, little sister. I have the inkling that for one to be free, the other must die. I'll be damned before I let you be the one to fall. _

_Once, I had the dreams of young men. _

_Now, I only have the dreams of old men. To usher in the next hope, the next story. To help more than harm as the galaxy passes us by._

_My story, my dream has ended, my people forgotten. They will not rise again, in all likelihood. _

_A thought that should fill me with despair, but I see now that none of it ever really ends. There is always a new dream._

_You will do wonders._

_I love you, Polaris._

_-Your 'Gan_

* * *

**A/N: Ha, I always forget to put in an author's note until after I've published. Then, I go 'Dang it!' and do it. Anyway, I can't tell you guys how grateful I am that you read my stories, my musings on adventure and meaning and such. Not that I'm some celebrated philosopher or anything. I just like to share the stuff I think about. **

**Anyway, thank you for reading. Please review if you have the time. **

**P.S. I'm also thinking about a new arc from Celeste's POV. Call it a parallel tangent. I really hadn't intended to take it this far, but these characters won't let me go. They have their hooks in me good and deep. But I think that's a sign of something good. That's my hope anyway. I think I'll call it 'Mother'. **


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